Kisses Sweeter Than Wine
by Evilida
Summary: A story about temptation and trust set a few years in the future. Wilson and Cuddy are married and Cuddy has a daughter. Complete in twenty chapters. Comments are very much appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** James Wilson, Gregory House, Lisa Cuddy and the Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital are all the intellectual property of David Shore at al.

Part One  
Incident at a Finnish Movie

James Wilson blinked when the movie theatre's lights came on. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes, but he managed to hold them back. Although he had in his capacity as an oncologist delivered the worst possible news with a practised professional composure, clear-eyed and without a tremor, the imaginary people who inhabited the movie screen had a way of slipping past all his emotional defences. Maybe that was why he loved the movies so much.

This afternoon's film was part of a Scandinavian film festival, and the audience surrounding him was composed mainly of university students. The movie's director, a bearded Finn in his twenties, rose to accept the audience's applause and to address questions. Most of the questions dealt with technical matters which held no interest for Wilson – filters and film stock and focal lengths – and he paid little attention. Wilson hadn't quite made the transition back into the real world; his thoughts kept returning to the fragile beauty of the movie's heroine and the cruelty of her faithless lover.

The director took one last question from the audience, pointing to a tall, immaculately-dressed woman in the fourth row. She stood to address him, and Wilson recognized his ex-wife, Julie. Julie's auburn hair, long and flowing when Wilson first met her, was now cropped in an efficient bob. Then, she had had the appearance of a Renaissance Madonna filled with compassionate sorrow for the sins of the world. Wilson had been unable to resist her air of sweet melancholy, had longed to bring a smile to her down-turned lips.

Of course, Wilson now knew, he'd misread her entirely. He'd seen what he wanted to see. That depth of soul was only ordinary discontentment with her lot in life. Julie wanted the life she read about in books and saw on movies and television, but reality always fell short of the perfection she envisioned. Wilson fell short, too. She complained that he wasn't ambitious or forceful enough and that his very respectable salary as Head of the Oncology Department was still not enough to pay for entry into the social circle where she properly belonged.

Since their divorce, she'd married a wealthy property developer, who could presumably afford to give her the life he wanted. He wasn't in the audience though. Julie, like Wilson himself, had come to the theatre alone.

Julie's question was sharp and perceptive and the director became quite animated in his reply. Julie responded, and the two became involved in a discussion, ignoring the presence of the rest of the audience. The director seemed to be quite taken by Julie, despite the fact that she was at least a decade older than he was. Wilson had almost forgotten Julie's quick intelligence. His memories of her had been coloured by his feelings of betrayal and anger. He realized that he hadn't been fair to her.

The question and answer session was over and the audience poured out into the streets. Wilson stood next to the wall in the lobby, letting the crowd disperse, waiting for Julie to appear. He thought he had wronged her somehow, if only in his own mind, and he owed her a few polite words.

Julie spotted her ex-husband waiting for her across the lobby and advanced towards him with regal hauteur. She had forgiven Wilson a long time ago for not being the knight in shining armour she had thought he was, but she had no intention of letting Wilson know that. Her new husband had provided her with the social status and material possessions she craved, but ruthless ambition is not quite as attractive a quality in day to day life as it is in romantic fiction. Life with Carl Bensonhurst had given her a new appreciation of Wilson's gentler qualities. She inclined her head slightly, allowing Wilson, who was an inch or two shorter than she was in her high heels, to kiss her lightly on the cheek.

"Hello, Julie," he said. "I was very impressed by your comments back there. Your insights were quite...insightful."

"Thank you," Julie said. "Not a _bad_ film I thought, but rather manipulative. I do hate it when films try to toy with the audience's feelings so obviously."

She spotted the bearded director across the lobby, where he was showing a great deal of attention to a young female admirer in a low-cut blouse. The admirer, obviously an undergraduate, was giggling and blushing in a very immature and unbecoming way, but the director didn't seem to mind. Julie drew closer to her ex-husband and put her hand on his arm.

"Let's go for a coffee and talk a bit. I always think that the best part of a film is discussing it with someone afterwards," Julie said. "Unfortunately, my husband Carl doesn't share our interest in cinema. He falls asleep as soon as the lights dim. "

"I saw your wedding announcement in the newspaper," Wilson said. "I thought of sending you a card or a note, but I wasn't sure under the circumstances what would be appropriate etiquette."

Julie waved her arm airily, dismissing etiquette, as if such concerns had never mattered to her. Wilson knew that Julie was, in fact, obsessed with what she called 'proper standards of behaviour' and 'the right way of doing things', but he nodded agreeably.

"Yes," she said. "My husband is Carl Bensonhurst. Have you heard of him? He's in real estate."

"So it said in the newspaper."

"And you've married again as well. Is it number four, or have I missed one? Lisa Cuddy, I remember her well. A formidable woman, very dedicated to her work. An unmarried mother, too. You've taken on a lot. It's admirable of you."

"Lisa's wonderful and so is her daughter Emily," Wilson said in a rather strained voice. Julie was making it difficult for him to be polite.

"I have no doubt," Julie said coldly.

She watched the director and the undergraduate walk out of the theatre together. The Finn could not keep his eyes off the young woman's cleavage. Julie's haughty facade suddenly cracked.

"Please ignore me. I'm being catty and I can't help myself. I'm just a miserable woman who can't stand to see other people enjoying life. Oh, James, I'm so unhappy!"

She started to cry and Wilson reached in his pockets to find her a tissue.

--

All signs of Julie's emotional outburst had been carefully concealed by the time the waitress returned with two cups of coffee. Julie picked up her cup, took one sip of the bitter liquid and put the cup aside. Wilson, she knew, would drink anything, even the dishwater they served they served at the hospital, but she had standards.

"I never expected fidelity from Carl," Julie said. "Men in his position live by different rules. They all have their little affairs and their mistresses, but it doesn't mean anything. She's just so young though. Nineteen! She's younger than Carl's daughter!"

Wilson nodded sympathetically. A nineteen year old mistress. How could Carl keep up? He imagined a jaded sophisticate and an excited teenage girl jetting to London or Paris for romantic assignations. She wouldn't care that he was married; the poor naive girl would be overwhelmed by his glamour. Wilson's romantic imagination rather outstripped reality. Carl Bensonhurst was a millionaire of the penny-pinching kind, and he visited his girlfriend in her tiny dorm room at Princeton. His mistress was equally hard-headed and practical and used his 'gifts' to help pay for her tuition.

"I should be happy," Julie said. "I'm living the life I've always wanted. Why aren't I happy? Was I happy with you?"

"No," Wilson said. "You weren't happy and neither was I."

"Are you happy now?" Julie asked.

Wilson hated direct personal questions. He always tried to deflect her attention away from himself. This was one of the things that had frustrated her during their marriage. She had no doubt that Wilson felt things deeply, but he refused to communicate his feelings. Julie could tell Wilson was trying to think of a clever way to avoid answering her. Impulsively, she reached across the table and touched his hand. Wilson looked up and Julie smiled at him, letting him know that she wasn't going to force him to talk if he didn't want to. He smiled back, and Julie almost gasped. Confused by her own reaction, she dropped her eyes and took another sip of the vile coffee. She decided to change the subject.

"There's another movie in the festival series next Saturday afternoon that I really want to see. It's Norwegian. The director's been compared to Hitchcock. "

She had his attention. Wilson was a devout disciple of the British director.

"Really, what's it called?"

"Nine Angel Street. It's about a love affair that leads to murder. I've got the festival program in my purse somewhere."

She pulled out the program, found the listing, and handed it to him.

"I know how much you love Hitchcock. We should see it together so we can discuss it after. Bring Lisa along. I'd love to meet her again."

"Lisa doesn't like subtitled movies. She's says reading the subtitles gives her a headache. Besides she likes to spend Saturday afternoons with Emily. It's sort of their tradition. They're seeing Disney Princesses on Ice today. I'm not sure what they've got planned for next Saturday."

"Well," said Julie. "I'm definitely going to see it. It only has one showing and I'm not going to miss it. If you decide to go, I'll see you there."

Wilson nodded and passed her the program back.

"Keep it," Julie said. "I've already got the date and time written in my day timer. This coffee really is horrible. I'm not going to finish it. I've got to get going. God forbid Carl's dinner should ever be late. I'll see you next week if you decide to see the movie. If not, I'm sure we'll meet again at a hospital fundraiser or something. Carl and I go to all the charity events; it's good social networking and he gets tax deductions."

Wilson stood up and kissed her on the cheek again. He was smiling at her again, and her heart was beating faster. She hoped she wasn't blushing. How dare he still have this effect on her!

--

After Julie left, Wilson called the waitress back and ordered a piece of pie and a refill. He was aware of Julie's affectations, and her tendency to over-dramatize the events of her life. Still, she had seemed genuinely upset. Wilson hated to see her in distress. He wished there was something he could do to make her happy.

--

When Lisa and Emily returned from Disney Princesses on Ice, Wilson was watching the last few minutes of a football game. His feet were on the coffee table and a cold beer was his hand. Emily's cat, Munchausen, was sleeping on Wilson's lap so he couldn't get up to greet his wife and stepdaughter. Lisa leaned over to kiss his forehead, and he smiled up at her. Emily grabbed Munchausen and took the protesting cat back to her bedroom.

"Did you make dinner?"

"No," Wilson replied. "I've had a lazy afternoon. Saw a movie instead of doing anything remotely productive. Want me to order a pizza?"

"I'm not hungry. Emily and I had hot dogs. I was feeling quite guilty, thinking that you made dinner, and then I spoiled our appetites eating stadium hot dogs."

"I guess my laziness worked out for the best then."

"This time," said Lisa. "Who's winning?"

"I'm not sure. The ones in purple, I think. "

Lisa laughed and settled next to her husband on the couch.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two  
Mornings

Wilson woke early Sunday morning. Gently he eased out of bed. Lisa, whose delicate ladylike snores were the only sound in the house, did not stir. It was seven o'clock, really too early to be up on a Sunday morning, but he was already fully awake and knew he would not get back to sleep. The early morning light shining through sheer curtains was enough for him to grab an armful of clothes. He went to the main bathroom rather than the smaller one attached to the bedroom so that the sounds of the toilet and the shower would not waken Lisa.

He stepped out of the bathroom, damp haired and dressed in his weekend clothes – sweatshirt and jeans. Emily, Lisa's daughter, was waiting in the hallway. Her puffy, sleep-smudged face stared up at him.

"Good morning, Emily," he said in a whisper. "Did I wake you? I'm sorry. Do you want to go back to bed?"

Emily shook her head.

"Want some breakfast then? Do you want pancakes?"

"Cereal," Emily said.

Wilson should have known. Lisa and Emily were creatures of habit where breakfast was concerned. Everyday Emily had orange juice in her blue plastic cup and Cheerios in her red bowl. Lisa had a container of yogurt and a big cup of coffee. If she was exceptionally hungry, Lisa might manage a slice of toast as well.

"We have to talk softly because your mommy's still sleeping," said Wilson, as Emily followed him to the kitchen.

Emily's breakfast took about thirty seconds to make. He decided on scrambled eggs for himself. Emily watched him crack and beat the eggs intently, as if she were memorizing his actions. When she grew up, she might want to eat scrambled eggs instead of cereal, and she wanted to be prepared.

Wilson sat down next to Emily with the scrambled eggs. Emily was a slow eater and easily distracted from her food. At the moment, she was distracted by Wilson's damp hair. He hadn't been able to blow-dry it, since that would wake Lisa, so it was messy. Emily liked it.

Wilson felt in a baking mood this morning, and would have made banana pancakes, if only there were someone else to eat them. He remembered waking up to the smell of banana pancakes when he was a boy. He decided to make banana bread instead. He could always bring some into work if Emily and Lisa didn't eat it. House would eat anything he made.

Lisa slept in past nine, a rare luxury for her. She woke to the smell of freshly baked banana bread and coffee, and wandered into the kitchen. Emily, dressed in her play clothes and with a tea towel tied around her waist as an apron, was watching her stepfather carefully remove the bread from the loaf pan.

"And then Cinderella scared the bad cat and he ran away and the mice came out and they were dancing and the littlest mouse was the best one! He had floppy ears and Mommy thought he was Dumbo. She's so silly! Dumbo's a lelephant!"

"Who are you calling silly?" Lisa asked in a pretend-angry voice.

"You!" said Emily, running to her mother, her favourite person in the world. "You're so silly!"

Wilson smiled and went over to Lisa to kiss her cheek. He went to the cupboard to get her a cup for her coffee. "What flavour yoghurt this morning?" he asked.

"Maybe I'll have some of whatever smells so good," Lisa said.

"Wait a minute for it to cool," Wilson said. "I was thinking that maybe we three could all do something together today. We could go to the park or the natural history museum."

"Not today," Cuddy said. "Remember, we're going to visit Aaron today. He's got a new barbecue and he's having us around for steaks and burgers. "

"I forgot. Were we supposed to bring something for the barbecue? Diana, the new tech in radiology, gave me her recipe for Tex-Mex chicken wings. She said they're really good."

"We don't have time to make anything. We're going to watch the football game first. The pregame starts at 10:30. We can pick up something ready-made at the supermarket."

Lisa left to take a shower and change, banana bread forgotten. Wilson wrapped it in tin foil and put it in the freezer.

------

Wilson, Emily and Lisa were driving to her Brother Aaron's house. They had stopped at a supermarket to buy grill-ready chicken kebabs and a six-pack of Aaron's favourite beer.

"Maybe we could do something together next week," said Wilson, "How about next weekend?"

"Saturday, Emily and I have reservations for lunch. Crustless sandwiches and petit fours. Really girly-girl stuff."

"I can do girly-girl," Wilson said, smilingly.

"I'm going to meet Andrea and her daughter. It's a mother-daughter thing. No husbands or boyfriends allowed. Sorry, honey."

Wilson did not like Lisa's friend Andrea, mainly because Andrea had made it very clear that she did not like or trust James Wilson. He'd met her a few weeks before the wedding and Andrea had asked him all sorts of questions about his past and his family. Wilson valued his privacy. He knew that Andrea was Cuddy's oldest friend, so he was polite, but he had no intention of indulging her insatiable curiosity. He'd used all his charm and skill to deflect her but he'd only aroused her suspicions. She'd tried to get House to spill some information but had only been insulted for her pains. She tried his colleagues at work and she'd even called his ex-wives; he knew because Bonnie had telephoned him afterwards, indignant on his behalf. He was happy that Andrea lived on the other side of the continent in California, and had hoped to see little of her. Unfortunately, her career seemed to take her to the east coast fairly frequently, and she usually dropped by to see her parents and her old friends when she was nearby.

"What about next Sunday?" Wilson asked.

"I'm going to have to work Sunday, getting ready for the quarterly review. I should really be working on it right now, but I already told Aaron we'd come. "

Cuddy's brother was a football fanatic and would probably spend the entire evening quoting statistics and parroting the opinions of his favourite sports jock. Wilson watched the Super Bowl once a year, like every other patriotic red-blooded American male, and then he forgot about football the rest of the time. Every time he met Aaron, Wilson was afraid that he would be caught out and tried to cram himself full of football knowledge, but that was just nervousness. All he really had to do was agree with everything Aaron said, and Cuddy's brother would assume that Wilson was a football genius. It was going to be a long day.

------

Weekday mornings were very different from Sundays. Organization and logistics were where Lisa Cuddy really shone, and Monday mornings showed her at her very best. She confirmed the week's schedule with her assistant on the phone while getting Emily dressed and fed. She arranged a lunchtime meeting with the Heads of Nursing and Pediatrics between sips of coffee and spoonfuls of raspberry yogurt. Wilson's role in Lisa Cuddy's morning was to stay out of everybody's way. He tried to help out a bit by making sandwiches for Emily's lunch and his own, but when Marta, Emily's nanny, arrived, she took over. He was swept out of the kitchen and into the comparative quiet of Lisa's living room.

Wilson retrieved his battered briefcase and put on his coat. From the pocket, he pulled out the movie program that Julie had given him and reread the blurb for Nine Angel Street. He quickly stuffed it back in his pocket when he heard the sound of Lisa's heels on the hardwood floor.

"It looks like I'm going to be late home tonight, James, so I'll take my own car today. Marta has an afternoon class today and won't be able to pick Emily up at pre-school. Would you mind picking her up after work?"

"I was going to go to Barnhart's lecture – the one on the nutritional needs of leukemia patients. She's getting really interesting results."

"The lecture is going to be videotaped so you can watch it another time," Lisa said.

"I had some questions I wanted to ask her," Wilson protested, but Lisa had already left the room, ready to solve her next problem.

Wilson pulled out his own cellphone and called one of his colleagues in Oncology, "Hi, Khan. This is Wilson. I was just wondering whether you were planning on going to Barnhart's lecture. Great. I can't go but I have some questions I wanted to ask her about the results of her last study. Could I give them to you to ask her? Thanks. Yeah, I'd appreciate that. Bye."

Without thinking, Wilson pressed a number on speed dial. The phone on the other end of the line rang a dozen times before it was picked up.

"Whoever this is, this had better be important. I was dreaming about sharing a bubble bath with Carmen Electra and the Olsen twins."

"It's me, House," Wilson said, only then realizing that he had no idea why he had just called his best friend.

"Okay," House said. "What do you want that can't wait until I get to work?"

"Just checking to see if you're all right."

"Why wouldn't I be all right?"

"Well, I haven't seen you for a while, and I was just wondering..."

"Whether I could survive without your constant nannying. "

House's voice was unusually gruff on the other end. Wilson realized that his friend was having one of his bad days. Probably, he had gotten House out of bed and to the phone before he had had a chance to take his Vicodin.

"I'm sorry. I know I haven't been a very good friend to you lately. "

Wilson's apology, his meek refusal to respond to House's provocations, only made the diagnostician angrier. He preferred it when Wilson was brisk and bantering. House's upbringing had taught him to despise displays of emotion. Since Stacey had left, Wilson was the closest person to House in the world, but House's instinct was always to attack when he saw signs of vulnerability and weakness. Sometimes, he managed to overcome his instinct; this day, he couldn't.

"When were you ever a good friend, Wilson?" he said. "Our friendship has always been about me indulging your pathetic need to be needed. I don't actually need you and I never did. If looking after a wife and kid aren't enough for you, why don't you adopt some sad-eyed puppy and leave me alone?"

House hung up. Wilson dropped the cellphone into his coat pocket and left for work.


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three  
Eternal Joy and Everlasting Love

House had spotted the engagement ring on Rosemary Lum's finger immediately, but he pretended that he hadn't seen it. House despised social hypocrisy. If he admitted to seeing the ring, he would not be able to congratulate her on her upcoming wedding. He'd have to tell her what he really thought about her decision.

Lum was making it difficult to pretend though. She was showing the tiny diamond chip in a circlet of 10 karat gold to a couple of nurses taking a coffee break. Lum's pleasant demeanour and her regular doughnut rounds had made her a favourite among the nursing staff, and soon a small crowd gathered around her, admiring her pathetic ring and offering congratulations. Tony Crane, House's other fellow, glowered at the edges of the group, resenting his colleague's popularity. Crane was much disliked for his arrogant attitude and he had never given anybody as much as a stale soda cracker. As House watched from his office, James Wilson stepped off the elevator to go to his office, but he was sidetracked and drawn into the group. He leaned over as if he were going to kiss Lum's hand, although he was only looking at her ring. Wilson was undoubtedly offering his sincere congratulations. He firmly believed in the institution of marriage. Three failed attempts had not discouraged him. He persevered.

Lum spotted her boss standing in the doorway of his office and happily waved him over, spreading her finders wide so that the ring was visible. House could not avoid her any longer. He limped out toward the group. Lum smiled warmly, but Wilson frowned and sent House a warning glance. Wilson liked Lum, knew what House's opinion of her engagement was likely to be, and didn't want House to spoil this happy moment for her. House ignored his friend. He had an obligation as her mentor to give Lum the benefit of his knowledge and experience, even if she was unlikely to follow his advice.

"I assume that this ring is from Henry."

Henry was Lum's long-distance boyfriend. He was a post-graduate student in creative non-fiction. House had never met him, but he had heard Lum talk about him and had come to some conclusions about his character and suitability as a husband.

"Of course, it is," Lum said. "I should show you the inscription on the inside. Henry is so sweet and he's so good with words."

She pulled the ring of her finger and handed it to House to examine.

"'Eternal joy and everlasting love.' Your Henry's a bit of a plagiarist, is he? I guess he couldn't fit the author's name on this little piece of metal. Or the whole quotation:

'Angels are painted fair, to look like you:  
There's in you all that we believe of heaven,—  
Amazing brightness, purity, and truth,  
Eternal joy, and everlasting love.' "

"Beautiful," said one of the nurses.

"Shakespeare," said Crane authoritatively.

"Thomas Otway," corrected House, "but don't worry; it won't be on the test.

Of course, Henry probably didn't come up with the inscription himself. I'd imagine that a jewellery store would have a list of suitable phrases for the husband to pick from. Is that what you did, Wilson? I imagine you were getting pretty far down the list by the time you got to Cuddy. Or did you just reuse the same quotation over and over?"

House turned his head slightly to address the oncologist. Wilson didn't answer him, indicating that he wanted no part of House's performance. Wilson stuffed his hands into the pockets of his white lab coat and avoided House's gaze. Several of the nurses frowned; they thought House was picking on their favourite oncologist. House returned his attention to Rosemary Lum, whose smile wasn't quite as bright as it had been before.

"Aren't you going to congratulate me or wish me luck?" Lum asked.

"I should congratulate Henry and wish you luck," House said. "He's a liar in training with no career prospects and he's found a supposedly intelligent professional willing to make a legal commitment to support him 'until death do you part'. Congratulations to him. You're going to need the luck, or at least a rock-solid prenuptial agreement."

----------

By some miracle, Wilson's sandwich was still in the staff refrigerator at lunch time. He'd carefully hidden the sandwich at the very back of the refrigerator, concealed behind a protective wall of expired yogurt containers and a sealed plastic bag containing something brown and furry. He briefly considered mixing the yogurt into the contents of the plastic bag and creating some new and exotic form of life, but decided that doctors should not play God.

"So what do you think of Lum's engagement?" said a voice coming over Wilson's shoulder. Wilson jumped.

"You startled me, House."

"Caught you doing something you shouldn't have been doing?" House asked. "Is that your sandwich or are you stealing one of Birnbaum's?"

"I wouldn't steal one of his. He has tuna every single day. It's as if he'd never heard of mercury levels."

"So it's one of yours," House said, "I want half."

"I'm sure you do." Wilson said. "This is thin-sliced roast chicken and cheese on sourdough. I've put on a little spicy apple chutney too, for extra flavour. There's lettuce too, but I keep it separate and add it at the last minute so it's still crisp and green and crunchy. It's going to be delicious and I'm going to enjoy every bite. "

"I'm hungry."

House tried a pleading expression that had worked very well on his mother when he was six years old. Either the magic had worn off, or Wilson was much less susceptible than Mrs. House, because it had no discernable effect.

"The cafeteria special today is grilled cheese. Or if you feeling frugal today, there's peanut butter and white bread in the cupboard."

House chose the peanut butter.

"Lum's engagement?" he prompted.

"I'm happy for her and I wish her all the best."

"Wishing her all the best won't do any good once she is married to that male gold digger."

"Henry seems like a perfectly nice person from what Lum tells me and they've known each other since high school."

"He was just clever enough to spot her brains and ambition early on. She's going to spend the rest of her life supporting him while he sits at home in his pyjamas being 'creative' and waiting for the muse to strike."

"He seems reasonably industrious," Wilson commented. "Lum showed me a poem he had published in a literary review."

"Was it any good?"

"I have no idea," Wilson said. "There was something about red wheelbarrows and something about the taste of watermelon. Lum said he was influenced by the imagists."

"He'll bleed her dry," he said. "Her only hope is that he'll find someone richer than Lum and latch on to her instead. Next time he's in town, I'll get Cuddy to invite him to one of her fundraiser dinners. Maybe he'll find a spoiled socialite to support him and he'll drop Lum."

"You have a very cynical view of human relationships," said Wilson, taking a big bite of his sandwich. He closed his eyes as if all his other senses were overwhelmed by what was happening in his mouth. He even moaned a little.

"I have a realistic view."

There was a little spot of chutney on the corner of Wilson's mouth. Slowly and deliberately, Wilson used his finger to get that little bit of chutney and then he licked his finger.

"This is a really good sandwich," Wilson commented. "There's a sort of mystic fusion of flavours and textures that's hard to describe. You just have to experience it."

House refused to beg, but his eyes followed the sandwich as Wilson's lifted it towards his mouth again.

"I would have thought that Julie would have scraped some of that romantic idealism off you."

"What do you mean, House?"

"I mean that Julie was a gold digger, obviously."

"She was not," Wilson protested. "If she was a gold digger, she would have asked for alimony. She agreed to a very reasonable settlement."

"She let you off the hook," House said, "because she had already caught a much bigger fish. She threw you back because you were a minnow and she wanted a marlin."

"That comment is going to cost you. I was thinking of giving you half of this sandwich, but now I've changed my mind. You are going to regret it, because I swear to you," Wilson looked straight into his friend's eyes so that his sincerity could not be doubted," this is the best sandwich in the history of the human race."

----------

Carl didn't get home until almost eleven. Julie didn't bother asking him why he was late. His answer was always the same – 'business.' When he sat down next to Julie on the couch, she could smell a sickly scent that clung to his clothes and his skin. It was sweet like rotting flowers or spoiled fruit but with an unpleasant chemical undertone. It reminded her of the insecticide she used near the patio doors to keep ants from invading the house. Because of that association, it took her a few seconds to realize that the smell had to be his girlfriend's perfume Julie had married a man who went straight from his mistress's bed to his wife, without even bothering to shower.

Julie had married Carl knowing that he was a bully to his employees and that he treated waiters, taxi drivers and other people he considered his natural inferiors with contempt. Julie, however, had been his princess. The contrast between the way that he treated everyone else and the consideration and kindness he showed Julie made her feel valued and special. She told her friends that he was a forceful self-made man, and that his drive and ambition made him impatient and careless of how he appeared to others but that he was kind underneath. With her encouragement and guidance, Carl learned to moderate his behaviour. When she was there to see him, he refrained from snapping his fingers for wait service or snarling at his staff.

Julie's benevolent influence was short-lived. Once they were married, Carl reverted to his old ways. When she rebuked him for his lack of manners, he ignored her. He lost interest in Julie within a few months of marrying her; now that he actually had her, he couldn't remember why he wanted her. Carl treated Julie as if she were just another employee. She had no claim on his thoughts, but he retained for the sake of her utility as stepmother and housekeeper.

Julie would gladly have left him, but she had signed a pre-nuptial agreement and would receive nothing from Carl if they divorced. She had quit the job she held before marriage at Carl's insistence. Divorce meant that she would be penniless, homeless, and jobless. She'd weighed a comfortable life with a man she disliked against a minimum-wage job and a basement apartment and made the logical choice.

Julie waited until he'd gone up to bed before she allowed herself to cry.


	4. Chapter 4

Part Four  
Nine Angel Street

It was time for Wilson's Friday morning muffin. Sitting in the cafeteria, he pulled the film flyer out of the pocket of his white coat again. He told himself that meeting Julie at the movies could not really be considered a date; he would have wanted to see the film whether or not Julie was there, and avoiding it just because Julie would be there seemed overly scrupulous. It was only his own male vanity, he reasoned, that made him cautious about seeing her.It was ridiculous, to act as if she still had feelings for him more than five years after their divorce. All she wanted was a sympathetic listener; there was nothing wrong with listening. Besides the movie really did sound interesting. Before he could reread the blurb describing the movie for at least the tenth time, it was snatched out of his hands. 

"Hello, House," said Wilson, without looking up. 

House was glancing through the program for the Scandinavian film festival, noting that one of the films was circled in green ink. Green ink? Since when had Wilson used green ink?

"Swedish movies used to have a reputation," House said, "but these days most perverts prefer the Internet. More sex, fewer umlauts."

Wilson tried unsuccessfully to snatch the program back. 

"You have Nine Angel Street circled. A Scandinavian movie, I assume."

"Yes."

"Not in English."

"In Norwegian."

" Subtitled. Cuddy hates subtitles. "

"That's why she's not going."

"So you're going alone."

"Not necessarily," said Wilson.

"Right, I'm sure there are dozens of people lining up to see Norwegian movies with you." He sat down opposite Wilson. "A sexy Hitchcockian thriller. Maybe I should join you."

"No, House. I thought we had agreed never to see another foreign movie together after the Farewell, My Concubine debacle."

"That was entirely your fault."

"I thought it was a martial arts movie. I got mixed up. "

"It was about Chinese opera singers. Male Chinese opera singers. _Transvestite_ male Chinese opera singers."

"It was a good movie though. I was really enjoying it until you got us kicked out of the theatre."

"Any movie with Chinese opera in it is not a good movie. Did I tell you about the errors in the subtitles?"

"You always tell me about translation errors," Wilson said, "just usually not while the movie is playing and not at the top of your voice."

"If you had just given me your car keys when I told you I wanted to leave, I wouldn't have shouted."

"How would I have gotten home? You couldn't have driven anyway; you had at least three beers at the restaurant and a couple of Vicodin," said Wilson, taking a last sip of coffee, and glancing at his watch "I'm supposed to be at a patient conference right now. We'll have to bicker again some other time." 

He retrieved the program from House and put it back in his pocket. He threw his empty cup into the trash. 

---------

Julie had subtly altered her appearance in the week since she had last seen James Wilson. First she had gone to her hairstylist and asked her to soften the severe bob she wore. Josianne hadn't been happy. She was an artist and Julie wanted her to destroy one of her creations. It had taken the promise of a very substantial tip before she would agree to do it. Then Julie had rummaged through long-neglected corners of her closet to find something floaty and ethereal to wear. She had found a long gauzy skirt in pastel colours. It was years out of date, but she knew Wilson would never notice that, and it still fit. She had to buy new low-heeled shoes to go with it, and had even purchased a new shade of lipstick, something pink and demure, almost virginal. Looking in the mirror, she saw someone more gentle and innocent than life had allowed her to be. As a last touch, she stopped in a department store on her way to the movie theatre and sprayed herself with perfume from one of their testers. It was the same subtly musky scent that James had once given her as a Valentine's Day present. She hoped he would remember it. 

Julie spotted her ex-husband waiting in front of the theatre. Thankfully, he was alone. Julie had been afraid that his wife might decide to join him. She had even worried that he might bring his awful best friend, Gregory House, as some sort of chaperone. Julie's spirits rose. She had not been deceiving herself; James must feel about her as she felt about him.

Wilson kissed Julie on the cheek and handed her a ticket. Julie was disappointed by the kiss, which seemed the kind of kiss a dutiful nephew would give an elderly maiden aunt. James seemed awkward around her. That ease she had felt in his company the previous week had disappeared. He was backing away instead of coming closer, as she had intended. She had expected sympathetic understanding. She had to try harder to get what she needed. Julie addressed her ex-husband through half closed eyelids, as if she were too shy to tell him what she thought directly.

"I'm so glad you're here, James," she whispered. "I need a friend right now." 

She put a hand up to her eyes as if wiping away non-existent tears. Wilson briskly pulled a tissue from his coat pocket and handed it to her. 

"The movie starts shortly. We'd better take our seats."

Julie knew that she had miscalculated, that she had alienated Wilson in some way, but she had no idea where she had gone wrong. Her dismay was entirely genuine.

-----------

The lunch had been delicious, and the service attentive but unobtrusive. Lisa Cuddy was proud of her daughter Emily, who had been impressed by the elegance of her surroundings and had been on her best behaviour. Emily was also greatly taken by Andrea's daughter, who was a few years older than Emily. Leonie was an only child, and she basked in the younger girl's open admiration. 

When the waiter presented the bill, Andrea picked it up.

"What's my share?" Lisa asked, since it was their custom to split the bill evenly.

"I'm paying," said Andrea, "or actually the company I work for is. I have to admit that I have a bit of an ulterior motive in asking you out for lunch today. It's kind of a business proposition. I'm hoping we can go up to my suite and discuss it. I'll put on a DVD for the kids and we can talk about it privately."

"Is it about a hospital contract?" Cuddy said. "You know I can't make you any promises. All our contracts go up to committee"

"This isn't about a hospital contract. It's about one of your physicians – Dr. Gregory House. We're very interested in him."

"Are you still working for the publishing company? Do you want House to write you a book?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that. Let's discuss it in my suite."

---------

Wilson sat beside Julie in the darkened theatre. Lost in his own thoughts, he was surprised when the lights went up at the end of the film. He'd lost track of the plot in the first five minutes and had no idea whether the movie had been any good or not. 

Wilson was furious at his ex-wife. He'd fallen in love with Julie because she had seemed fragile and delicate and in need of protection. Then, after their marriage, she'd changed. She'd become hard and demanding. He'd blamed himself for her transformation. He thought that her disappointment with him had caused it. He'd made her cynical and materialistic, because he could not offer her the kind of love and support she wanted. Finally, he started to avoid her, because he could not stand the person that she'd become. He had believed that he was responsible for destroying everything that he had loved in her. Did Julie have any idea how much that realization had hurt him?

Now her calculated performance this afternoon destroyed his illusions. He had to face the fact that the fragile, delicate woman he had fallen in love with had never really existed. She was a fiction, someone Julie had created to draw him in. She had callously manipulated him, which was bad enough. What was worse was that she had thought he was so gullible that he could be fooled again with the same act. It was outrageously insulting.

"Well," Julie said, "that was an interesting film. Should we go for coffee and discuss it?"

Wilson turned towards her. Julie was wearing an artificial smile, although her eyes were clouded by tears. Perhaps, he told himself,the movie made her cry. He prepared to refuse her invitation, maybe even tell her what he really thought of her, but something in her expression stopped him. Her unhappiness was real. He couldn't pretend not to see it. She did need someone to talk to and she must have really been desperate to choose him, of all people. Of course, she was manipulative and deceitful, but she was also vulnerable and in need.

"Just for a few minutes," Wilson said. "I have to get back to Lisa."

Julie and Wilson were in the theatre lobby, discussing where to go for coffee, when House made his way down from the balcony where he had been sitting. The tedium of sitting through an hour and a half of ersatz Hitchcock was more than made up for by the expression on Julie's face as she caught sight of him. 

"Wilson," he called out. Wilson turned around; he didn't look at all surprised to see House.

"Hello, House. Would you like to join us for coffee?"

--------

Three quarters of an hour later, they were sitting in the booth of a diner and Julie was still pouring out her tragic story to Wilson. Everyone time House tried to make a comment, Wilson gave him a stern glance. He was treating the brilliant diagnostician as if he were a bratty twelve year old, and in retaliation the brilliant diagnostician was acting like a bratty twelve year old. He had constructed a pyramid from coffee creamers and jams packets, and was now balancing a spoon on the end of his knife. A six year old at another booth was watching House with fascination. Just to amuse him, House performed the old trick of hanging a spoon off the end of his nose. 

"So you marry a man you know is a creep for his money," House had removed the spoon, "but you've signed a pre-nuptial agreement so that if you divorce the creep, you don't get the money. I overestimated you. I knew you were a money-hungry bitch, but I didn't think you were an idiot."

Julie forgot her role as tragic heroine long enough to swear viciously at House under her breath. Wilson's glare at House was not quite as stern or reproving as it should have been; he too was tired of listening to Julie's catalogue of grievances. The waitress dropped off the bill and Wilson automatically paid it. He knew that neither Julie nor House would offer to pay for their shares. 

Julie headed off in one direction to get to her car, and House and Wilson headed off in another.

"You tricked me," House said. "You wanted mearound to keep Julie from throwing herself at you. Why didn't you just ask me?"

"Would you have come if I asked you? If I said 'please do me a favour'?" Wilson asked. 

"No, but that just makes it worse. You knew I wouldn't have come, so you tricked me."

They had reached House's motorcycle. He pulled the keys out of pocket.

"Want to come back to Lisa's house for dinner? She and Emily won't be hungry after their fancy lunch, so I'm just going to order in."

"Now that you're actually married to Cuddy, maybe you should stop calling it 'Lisa's house'," said House. 

"There's this Indian restaurant that does delivery. It makes the best butter chicken, and the vegetable korma is unbelievable. Emily would love to see you. You're her favourite 'uncle'. I'm way down the list."

"Okay," House agreed, "but I want a double portion of naan."


	5. Chapter 5

Part Five

The Billionaire's Brain Trust

Andrea put a Disney movie into the dvd player in the living room of her hotel suite for Emily and Leonie and went into the bedroom to talk to Lisa Cuddy.

"That's should keep them quiet for a little while at least, "Andrea said. "Now we can talk."

"I'm dying of curiosity," Lisa said. "What this mysterious proposition to do with House?"

"It's a business proposition really. Payment for a consultation." Andrea noticed her friend's worried expression. "Don't look so concerned. I'm not sick with some unknown disease."

"After Peter and I divorced, I left Bellamy Books. It was just too awkward working in the same company with my ex. I got a job with another publishing company that specialized in cookbooks and, yes, I do realize how ironic that is, someone who barely knows how to boil water editing cookbooks. Anyway, the cookbook firm was swallowed up a bigger publishing company and in the shakeup I ended up getting a better position in the business books division. Then that publishing company was swallowed up too. Finally, I ended up working in corporate headquarters for the Andersen media empire. I'm in charge of Special Projects and I report directly to Alan Andersen."

"You're working for Alan Andersen. That must be ... interesting. He seems to be a man with very strong and forceful opinions."

"Don't mince words with me, Lisa. If you think my boss is a rightwing blowhard, say so. Nothing in my job description says I have to like the guy, or agree with his opinions."

"Well," Lisa said. "I'm a bit surprised you're working for him. You were always such an idealist and Alan Andersen..."

"Models himself on Genghis Khan," Andrea said. "Ideals don't put food on the table. Besides Alan Andersen has never asked me to do anything unethical. Swindling widows and orphans is taken care of by an entirely separate department.

The nickname for Special Projects in the firm is the Whitewash Division. Andersen spends most of time ruthlessly tearing his business rivals to shreds and feeding on their raw flesh, but for some reason he hates that people don't like him. Special Projects is his way of rehabilitating his reputation. The special project that I'm involved with right now has two goals. The first goal, and the only one that really matters to Andersen, is making my boss look good. The second goal is to conduct research in the social sciences. Right now he has a team looking into the way innovative and unconventional thinkers solve real-world problems. We've come up with a suitably impressive title with all sorts of scientific-sounding phrases like 'heuristic patterning" and "iterative algorithms", but I just call it the Billionaire's Brain Trust."

"You want House to be a part of this brain trust."

"He'd be perfect. I always thought you were exaggerating when you told me all those stories about him. Then I met him at your wedding, and I knew you were really down-playing his weirdness. He's brilliant, but he sees everything from his own strange House-centric perspective."

"Please tell me that you are not training people to be like House! Yes, he's brilliant," Lisa said,"but he's also incredibly single-minded and stubborn. The thought of actually unleashing a generation of House-clones into the world would give me nightmares. In the medical world, House has me and the board keeping him in line, but out there in the unregulated free market..."

Andrea laughed, "Creating House clones isn't the intent of the project. Andersen has hired all these researchers to come up with questions and tests and we've got a list of potential research subjects in all sorts of disciplines – we've got a guerrilla fighter whose going to explain his unconventional military tactics, and this grade-school teacher whose achieved really impressive results with disadvantaged kids, and even this pastry chef I met in my cookbook days. He puts together really odd ingredients, like lima beans and tuna and chocolate, and somehow makes deserts that taste heavenly. My boss is going to represent innovative thinking in the business community. It's not going to be all House."

"It doesn't sound very scientific."

"It's not _real_ science," Andrea agreed, "It's social science, which is entirely different."

"I'm just trying to imagine Alan Andersen and Gregory House in the same room," Lisa said.

"Clash of the Giant Egos."

"Run away! Run away!" said Lisa, quoting one of their college-era favourites, Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

The resultant laughter drew a reproving glare from Leonie, who got up to shut the door that connected the living room from the bedroom. The grown-ups were drowning out her favourite movie, just at the best part.

"Talk to House for me," Andrea said. "I know you can communicate with him. He mystifies me. He was making all these crude sexist jokes to me at your wedding, and I just assumed he was drunk, but then he delivered that beautiful after-dinner speech flawlessly."

"It's House's technique. He unsettles people to see how they react. I've had years of practice in not reacting at all, but he can still get under my skin when he wants to. "

"Convince him. Tell him there's an honorarium involved - a substantial honorarium for him and a very decent donation to the hospital foundation for lending him to us."

"Money isn't all that important to House," said Lisa. "He likes it, but I think he might actually like frustrating Alan Andersen more. He's not particularly fond of billionaires."

"Tell him that the whole experiment is about puzzles. The trickiest, cleverest puzzles a whole team of highly educated researchers can come up with. It's a contest – House vs. the Ivy League."

"He's already taken on God. The Ivy League might not be challenging enough for him."

--

House usually avoided visiting the house that Wilson and Cuddy shared. Seeing them together made him uncomfortable. The two people he relied upon the most had formed a union that excluded him. There had been a connection between House and Cuddy – still was. He'd always been aware of the possibility that the two of them could be more than colleagues and friends. House had secretly thought that someday, when the time was right, House and Cuddy were going to make a life together. Then Wilson had stepped in and made sure that the right time would never come.

Wilson and Cuddy must have known how he felt, even though House had never spoken of his feelings to them. It was the worst kind of betrayal, and House knew that, if he had any pride, he ought to have shunned both of them and walked away from Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. House's imagination, which could be embarrassingly juvenile, had pictured the consequences. Without House as goad and inspiration, PPTH would lose its cutting-edge reputation. It would become just another hospital - respectable enough but unexceptional. Wilson would collapse from the weight of his guilt and have a nervous breakdown. Cuddy would suffer even more than Wilson. She would be heartbroken, realizing that she had settled for a life of mind-numbing domesticity when she could have had House. Unfortunately, his imagination had not stopped there. Instead House had gone on to see himself, lonely and friendless in a strange city, reduced to practising tedious cookie-cutter medicine for an HMO and killing himself with alcohol and drugs to make the boredom tolerable. An imagination can be treacherous.

In the end, House hadn't walked away from the job that gave his life an illusion of purpose, nor from the two people he loved the most. He wasn't strong enough to face an existence without the comforting prospect of new intellectual puzzles, a routine that gave him the incentive to get up in the morning, and the support of Cuddy and Wilson to rescue him from his self-destructive tendencies. However, he hadn't really forgiven Wilson for betraying him, and he despised his own weakness, which made him desperate for the company of a man he should hate.

Wilson tried to make House feel a part of the life that Wilson and Cuddy shared, while taking care not to hurt his friend with any overt display of marital bliss. For example, House was sure that they were sitting at the kitchen table, rather watching t.v. in the living room, because Wilson was concerned that House might be pained by the sight of the wedding photo prominently displayed on the wall above the television.

"I'm not sure what time the girls will be back," Wilson said, "so I won't phone in the order until they get back. Would you like some coffee? There's orange juice or Diet Coke if you'd like something cooler."

"A beer," said House.

"Not while you're riding that two-wheeled death machine."

House sighed. House thought that one beer wouldn't have any effect on his driving ability, but Wilson was certain that motorcycles existed only to maim or kill their foolish owners.

"Aren't you afraid that coffee or Coke will make me too jittery?"

"Orange juice it is, "said Wilson, ignoring House's sarcasm. "Don't you think that you're getting too old to be riding that thing?"

"You'll never separate me from my hawg," said House. "You'll have to bury me with it."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Wilson said, handing House a glass of juice. He wasn't planning on driving anywhere so he got himself a beer.

"My hawg and I are together to the end," said House. "I was thinking of giving her a treat – a new paint job. I'm thinking "Death Machine" stencilled in Gothic lettering and a death's head wearing a stethoscope."

"Very reassuring for the patients who see it parked in the staff lot."

"Not it. Her. A man who drives a seven-year old sedan can't understand what a motorcyclist feels for his machine – that powerful purring engine throbbing between his legs." House put on an expression of animalistic lust that would have made Hugh Hefner blush. Wilson didn't react.

Seeing that dinner was not imminent, House got up and peered into cupboards looking for something to eat. Unfortunately, the cupboards were filled with boring healthy food.

"House," said Wilson tentatively. "I didn't actually tell Lisa that I was going to see Julie at the movies."

"No kidding."

"She was kind of upset with me when I went to see Bonnie last week after her mother's funeral and forgot all about Emily's parent-teacher conference. She thinks that I'm too close to my ex-wives."

"So you don't want me to mention it," said House.

"Yes," said Wilson. "Please."

House turned around and stared into Wilson's eyes, looking for deception. His friend had always had a weakness for damsels in distress.

"Tell Cuddy," House said. "Don't start out your married life by keeping secrets."

"It's not a secret," Wilson protested. "It's not important enough to be a secret. It's just that she would be upset if she knew I was spending time with Julie, and I don't see any reason to upset her unnecessarily."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have gone to see Julie in the first place," said House, hating how self-righteous and prudish he sounded.

"But Julie was unhappy..."

"You didn't go for Julie's sake," said House. "You went for your own sake because you loved having the woman who rejected you suddenly coming to you for comfort. You couldn't resist playing the White Knight. Cuddy and Emily deserve better than you. You're pathetic." His voice was icy with contempt.

Wilson's faced hardened with anger. He got up from the table and advanced toward House. House was curious whether this time Wilson would finally overcome his inhibitions and actually hit his best friend. Wilson took a deep breath to calm himself. "I think you should leave," Wilson said. His voice sounded flat and dead. He avoided looking at House.

"So do I." House slammed the door on his way out.

Wilson was unable to remain angry for any length of time. By the time the roar of House's motorcycle had receded, Wilson was already beginning to regret the way he had treated the diagnostician. House had respected Wilson by giving him an honest opinion, however harshly phrased that opinion was.

--

House rode away, passing Cuddy as she turned into her street. He waved to her, and Cuddy waved back. Emily had fallen asleep in the car, so Lisa carried her to the door. Wilson had heard the car pull up and was waiting in the hall to greet her. The oncologist knew that House was right; he had to confess his indiscretion to Cuddy. Still, Lisa looked so happy and relaxed. How could he upset her over an incident so trivial and unimportant? Instead he kissed her on the cheek. He carefully took Emily from her arms and carried his stepdaughter to her room. When he returned, Lisa had taken off her coat and her high heels.

"Wasn't that House I saw leaving on the motorcycle? Why didn't you ask him for dinner?"

"House couldn't stay." Wilson shrugged, expressing his inability to understand or control House's actions.

"I have something to talk to him about, but I guess it can wait until tomorrow. I know you were thinking about Indian food, but I'm not really in the mood. I'm just going to make myself a salad. Do you want one?"

"No, thanks. I'm not hungry."

Wilson followed Cuddy into the kitchen, where she was looking for low-cal salad dressing.

"I love you and I love your daughter." It was important that Lisa believe him, so Wilson spoke as clearly and sincerely as he could.

"I know you do." Lisa turned around and shut the refrigerator door. She was surprised by Wilson's unusual intensity. Something had upset him, and she suspected that it was an argument with House. She was too clever to try to interfere with House and Wilson's friendship, which was a complicated and delicate mechanism that would have to find its own equilibrium, but she did know how to make her husband feel better. Her fingertips began to caress the soft, downy nape of Wilson's neck. Her breath, Wilson thought, was like the kiss of an angel. He leaned back slightly to enjoy the sensation better. Lisa's voice was a low, sexy whisper in his ear. "I love you too, James." Wilson abandoned himself to pleasure. Confession could wait.


	6. Chapter 6

Part Six

A Bored House is a Danger to Himself and Others

Every morning since his infarction had been the same for Dr. Gregory House. He should have been used to it, but he wasn't. In his dreams, he was whole; he could walk and run and even sometimes fly. Even if his dream was a nightmare - if he was being stalked by some nameless dreadful thing through a maze of endless hospital corridors - waking up was still a disappointment. At least he could run away in his dreams. In real life, he was crippled, in pain, and alone – conditions that seemed unlikely ever to change.

The clock radio went off at seven thirty Monday morning. House had set the radio to a country station with a particularly annoying playlist, so that he would be compelled to get up and turn it off. House groaned and opened his eyes. He reached out to the bottle of Vicodin he had left on his bedside table, and took two; then turned off the clock radio. He wanted to wait until the Vicodin had a chance to take effect, but his bladder wouldn't let him. He managed to get out of bed, wincing in pain, and limped toward the bathroom. He used the walls for support. His daily trips had created a grubby trail in the paintwork.

House didn't have a patient waiting for him at PPTH. He hadn't had a patient for the better part of a week, and his last patient had been a fairly straightforward case anyway. Psittacosis in a pet store employee was so predictable that only a real idiot (such as the patient's attending physician) could miss it. Without a case to solve, the week stretched before him blank and purposeless. He would try to hold the tedium at bay with video games and pranks, but only a new medical mystery offered any prospect of real relief.

--

House's two fellows were sitting in the diagnostics room at PPTH. They had come to dread the days when House didn't have a patient. A bored and cranky House found ways of amusing himself that were not entirely pleasant for the people around him.

"There has to be a case for House," Tony Crane insisted. "Did you check with internal medicine?"

"Of course, I did. I gave the nurses and the attending a whole box full of éclairs in exchange for their promise to let me know about any puzzling cases. I think you should pay half," Rosemary said.

"I'm not going to pay half when it didn't work. What about e-mails?"

"Check them yourself," Rosemary said. "See if anything new and spectacular has come in in the past five minutes."

She grabbed her laptop and a pile of patient files and headed out the door.

"Where are you going?"

"To the woman's changing room. I can get caught up with patients' notes, and House won't follow me there. At least, I hope he won't."

"That's not fair!" Crane said. "You can't leave me alone to deal with him by myself."

"Yes, I can. I've got my pager. Let me know if anything interesting comes up."

Crane wanted to call Rosemary Lum every nasty name he could think of. Rosemary smirked at him, daring him to try it. She knew that Dr. Cuddy, the Chief of Medicine, had delivered Crane a stern warning about his behaviour. One more incident and he would be dismissed. If he insulted the staff or the patients, if he propositioned one of the cafeteria ladies, if he swore or shouted at his colleagues or superiors, Crane would be let go without a good reference. He had to change his ways, or his career would be over. Crane's ambition was battling his natural obnoxiousness; so far ambition was winning.

--

Cuddy spotted her Head of Diagnostic Medicine getting off the elevator and walked over to meet him. House was still wearing his jacket and had obviously just come in to work, although it was well past nine. House expected Cuddy to rebuke him for his lateness, but instead she smiled warmly at him. He was instantly suspicious.

"Morning, House," she said. "I have something I want to discuss with you. Let's go to my office."

House would normally at this point be running through a mental list of misdemeanours, wondering which one Cuddy had discovered. Cuddy wasn't in her stern headmistress mode today, though. She was being nice to him, and there had to be a reason. She must want a favour. Having nothing better to do, House willingly followed her to her office. Lisa handed him a cup of her own personally brewed coffee, much better than the cafeteria's slop, and offered him an éclair. (She'd visited Internal Medicine earlier in the morning and had snagged the last one.)

"I've noticed that you haven't been quite yourself lately. You've been difficult to get along with. I've had complaints."

"Being difficult to get along with sounds _exactly_ like me."

"More difficult than usual," Cuddy said. "I think that you're acting out because you're bored. I think that your work hasn't been challenging enough for you lately. It's become routine."

"That's your diagnosis, is it?" House said. "I'm bored. That's all. What about the constant pain? You don't think that might have an effect?"

"Your pain level is constant. Your Vicodin intake hasn't gone up, but you've become more irritable. There must be some other factor involved."

House didn't reply. Was it possible that Cuddy really did not know how miserable her recent marriage had made him?

"Do you remember my friend Andrea? " Lisa asked, appearing to change the subject."She was at the wedding."

""She was the one Wilson hated. Short but curvy. Blonde hair."

"James didn't hate her."

"Wilson didn't tell you that he hated her. He told me. Only he didn't say hate, of course. He said she was pushy. In Wilson-speak, that means that he can't stand her and never wants to see her again."

"Anyway, Andrea has an interesting proposition for you."

"Does it involve whips and chains?"

"She has this research project in mind for you. It sounds quite interesting, and the publicity that it generates could be beneficial. It would be good for PPTH and good for you. It would raise your visibility, which would have the effect of attracting more interesting cases your way."

Cuddy outlined the Billionaire's Brain Trust. House considered the offer. Everything that he knew about Alan Andersen told him the man was pompous, arrogant, and power-hungry. House despised him and didn't want to work for him. On the other hand, it offered him the opportunity to prove how very much more clever he was than Alan Andersen and his entourage of researchers. More to the point, it was the only project on his horizon – the only island in an apparently endless sea of monotony.

"If you're interested at all, I'll phone Andrea and let her know. She's going to be in the area for a few more days, visiting her family and old friends. We can set up a meeting and go into details."

House nodded his agreement.

--

Julie was on the phone with her ex-husband. She was crying.

"Carl took his girlfriend with him to New York," she said, struggling to catch her breath. "He introduced her to his business associates. They all know about her now. I'm so humiliated. I have to see these people regularly at business dinners and social functions. How will I face them knowing that they know?"

"You shouldn't feel humiliated," Wilson said. "It's Carl who should feel ashamed not you. He has a wonderful wife that he is incapable of appreciating."

"Carl isn't ashamed. He doesn't even know what shame is. I confronted him, and he got really angry. I thought he was going to hit me. He said that if I didn't like the way he lived his life, I could always leave."

"Maybe you should leave him," James suggested. "I know that would leave you in a bad financial situation, but you're miserable with him. And if you think he is potentially violent..."

"He's never hit me," Julie said. "I know he used to hit his daughter when she was growing up. She told me. He was facing child abuse charges, but they were dropped when he agreed to get counselling. He hasn't hit her since."

"There are organizations that help women in your situation. I can talk to one of the social workers at the hospital. She'll have names and phone numbers."

"I know the kind of place you mean. Battered women's shelters. Places for people to hide. I haven't been battered, at least not yet, and I'm not going to hide. I want the life I'm living – the social functions, the committees, all my friends. I've worked hard for it, and I don't want to give it up. I won't let Carl take it away from me. I won't let him win."

"Julie, honey," said Wilson. "This isn't a contest; it's your life. Even though we're not married anymore, I still want you to be safe and happy. Please think about leaving him. I promise to help you if you do."

"I'll think about it," Julie said. "I've got to go now. I'm meeting my stepdaughter for lunch, and I've got major work to do before I can go out. You should see me. I've got mascara trails down my cheeks. I look hideous."

Julie wanted her ex-husband to compliment her – to say that she could never be hideous in any circumstances. Unfortunately, Wilson missed his cue. He just said good-bye and hung up.

Julie sighed and then surveyed herself in the full-length mirror that hung in her walk-in closet. Her eyes and her nose were red, her makeup was smudged, and her hair was a rat's nest. Still, the basics were all there. She had an excellent figure and good bone structure. Everyone said she looked years longer than her real age. Wilson was right; Carl was a fool for not appreciating her. Her marriage to Carl Bensonhurst was over. She couldn't afford to leave him yet, though. She needed to find a replacement first.

--

After work, James and Lisa went to pick up Emily at her pre-school. While James drove, Lisa looked though the first draft of the quarterly report she had been working on.

"Lisa, do you know a man named Carl Bensonhurst?" James asked. " Maybe you've met him at a hospital fundraiser?"

"I've heard of him," Lisa said. "He's a property developer. He has a bad reputation for cutting corners and a lot of dubious friends. I've heard rumours about bribes and criminal connections. Why do you ask?"

"My ex-wife Julie."

"She's married to him, isn't she? Well, I don't suppose his unscrupulous business practices would matter to her. All that she would care about would be his bank account, which is probably very healthy."

"That's a bit unkind," Wilson protested.

"Probably," Lisa agreed, "but I know Julie has said more than a few unkind things about me, and even worse things about you."

"Do you think Bensonhurst would hurt her?"

"Hurt Julie?" said Lisa, putting her report aside, and looking at her husband. They had pulled up outside Emily's preschool, but Lisa didn't make any move to get out of the car. "Why are you asking?"

"Well, I met Julie a while ago, and we started talking, and she mentioned that she and Carl Bensonhurst were having difficulties. What she said made me concerned for her."

"You just happen to meet your ex-wife, and she just happens to spill out her heart to you about her marital problems. Don't you see how inappropriate that is?"

"I know you think I shouldn't have anything more to do with my ex-wives, but I used to love them, and I still care about them," Wilson said. "Maybe I shouldn't, but I do. I'm happy with you, and I want them to be happy too."

"You aren't responsible for making them happy anymore. You should be making me happy. Me and Emily."

"I thought I was," Wilson said.

"Not right now, you're not," Lisa said. She got out of the car, slamming the door behind her. Wilson followed her.

Emily was subdued as they walked back to the car. She could sense the tension between the two adults.

"My assistant talked to Mrs. Albertini at the Purcell School. She was reluctant to even take the call at first. She has so many prospective students to choose from, that she doesn't bother with the ones with 'unreliable parents'. "

"I'm sorry I missed the conference. I told you Agnes's funeral took longer than I expected."

"And I expect that you wanted to comfort Bonnie afterward."

Wilson didn't want to get into an argument in front of Emily, so he said nothing.

"Anyway, Mrs. Albertini finally agreed to meet with us. The new appointment is for Wednesday at one-thirty. I had to make some major adjustments to my calendar to make myself available, so I hope that this time you'll actually attend."

"I'll check my schedule."

Lisa nodded curtly, then turned to her daughter.

"Well, Lollipop," she said. "How was your day?"

--

It was midnight, and Lisa Cuddy was the only one awake in the house. Beside her, her husband muttered something indistinguishable in his sleep. When they'd first started living together, she'd been curious and had tried to make out what he was saying in his sleep. Unfortunately, he mumbled so much that she couldn't make out a single word. For all she knew, he could be dreaming in Portuguese. She gently stroked his arm, and the muttering stopped. Still asleep, he rolled toward Lisa, the source of comfort and warmth. Cuddy edged to the side of the bed to avoid his embrace. She turned on the bedside lamp, picked up the quarterly report, and went through it one more time.


	7. Chapter 7

Part Seven

In Flight Refreshments

Lisa Cuddy leaned back, slipped off her high heels, and took another sip of the champagne. She regarded her travelling companion through half-shut eyes.

"I could really get used to this kind of life. Corporate jets, French champagne."

"Don't get used to it," Andrea said. "When you have to go back to the real world, the jolt is a real bitch. Oops, shouldn't have said that. Leonie, you didn't hear me say that."

"Leonie's asleep."

" So is House. We're alone, or as good as, so you can tell me. What's up? Why did you decide to come along with House? You and he aren't.. "

" a couple. No, of course we're not. It's just that the hospital board decided, and I agree, that House requires delicate handling. Last year, at a conference in San Diego, there was an incident that I shouldn't even mention. Can we forget that I mentioned San Diego? I think I've really had too much champagne."

"No such thing as too much champagne," Andrea said, taking another sip. "Want some more fresh strawberries? "

Cuddy shook her head, which seemed to make the whole plane spin. She giggled.

"Still if all he needed was a chaperone, sending the Dean of Medicine is real overkill. Couldn't they just send a burly orderly? "

"I volunteered. Well, not so much volunteered as insisted," Lisa confessed. "I needed a break."

"From the hospital," asked Andrea, "or from your marriage?"

"You know that's why I like you and James doesn't. You always ask straight out."

"But you don't always answer."

"A bit of both," Lisa said. "Mainly the marriage. Don't say ' I told you so.'"

"I wasn't going to," Andrea said. "I know I was a bit negative at the wedding. I was bitter about my divorce. Things got a bit ugly. You've got to know that I really want you to be happy. You're my best friend. Married or unmarried, I don't care, as long as you're happy."

"You were right about him," said Lisa. "You said he had secrets. House warned me too. He said Wilson was way too screwed up for me. He said, if I really wanted screwed up, I should just marry him instead of Wilson. 'With me', he said, 'at least you know what you're getting.'"

"Are we talking kinky?"

"No, not kinky. Sexually, James is vanilla, but really good vanilla. Haagen-Dazs vanilla not supermarket brand."

"Mmm...ice cream. You know what would be really good, right now? A champagne float. Ice cream, strawberries, and champagne. I wonder if this plane has any ice cream."

"No more champagne!" Lisa protested. "I'm supposed to be a responsible chaperone today. Anyway, we were talking about me and James and all James's little secrets and all his annoying little habits, such as the way he charms all the adult women in the hospital, all the gay men, and half the straight. I'm at a party, standing next to him, while they all flirt with him like crazy – I just want to say, look at me, I'm his wife, for God's sake, and I'm sexy as hell. If it weren't for House constantly hitting on me, I'd think I'd lost my looks."

"That could be really annoying."

"Then there are his ex-wives who phone him up and ask him to do them favours and tell him all their problems. Julie and Bonnie and now even Michelle. She hadn't seen or spoken to him for twenty years after their divorce; now that she's found him again she's phoning him up every week just to chat."

"You shouldn't have to share your husband."

"Exactly! That's not the worst thing, though" Lisa said. " Let me tell you a story. A true story. James and I were at a budget meeting and we disagreed, and things got a little heated, but it wasn't anything out of the ordinary. Then James got really upset and left the meeting, and House glared at me like I'd shot James's puppy. I had no idea what was wrong.

After the meeting, House told me I shouldn't have been so harsh with Wilson because he was so upset about his ex-mother-in-law's death. Apparently, he was really close to her and used to go visit her at her nursing home, even though he and her daughter have been divorced for ages. I mean I knew she died, and I knew James was going to take a morning off to go to her funeral, but I didn't know that he had this whole relationship with her, and I didn't know he felt.

James went straight home, and I picked Emily up at pre-school, so I warned Emily that James was a bit sad today. And she said, 'Yes, I know. He's been wearing his sad ties all week.'

It's like James is sending off these secret signals that House can read and Emily can read and I just can't."

"Well, maybe he doesn't want you to read his signals. Maybe he decided to marry you because you can't," Andrea said. "Like a poker player. He's one-up on you if he can tell what you're thinking and you can't tell what he's thinking."

"That is entirely possible," Lisa said. "And you know what that makes him? Sneaky. Very, very sneaky. He looks normal but he's complicated and tricky."

"Men are sneaky.",

"Yes, they are."

"And most women."

"But not me."

"No, Lisa. You're not tricky. Neither am I. We're two straightforward people in a world full of deceivers, cheats and poker-faced liars. Which is why we really need champagne floats. "

"Okay, I give in - champagne floats."

There was an intercom to the tiny kitchen, which Andrea used to relay their orders.

"I shouldn't be telling you this stuff. James would hate it if he knew," Lisa said. "He thinks you're pushy and you ask too many questions."

Andrea laughed. "I've been called much worse." She put down her drink and looked thoughtfully at her fomer college roommate. "I don't think you're telling me everything though. Something else is bothering you. You already knew about the ex-wives, and the flirting, and the secret signals you can't decode _before_ you married him. Something must have happened just recently."

"Something has," Lisa sighed, wondering whether it was a good idea to confide in Andrea. After a few seconds' deliberation, she decided that he couldn't keep her worries secret any longer. She had to talk. "So here's a story about how screwed-up James really is. I want to get Emily into this really good school. It requires a really in-depth interview with the parents to see if they are the right fit for the school. James didn't want to go because he's not Emily's father. He's known Emily all her life. He first saw Emily twenty minutes after she was born; we lived together for a couple of years before we married; and we've been married for three months. He loves Emily to bits and she loves him. He's her father.

So I convinced James to go, and the interviewer, Mrs. Albertini, addressed some questions to me and some to James. And almost every time, James called Emily "Lisa's daughter." Not just once, but half a dozen times. As if he'd met Emily at a party and couldn't remember her name. Mrs. Albertini mentioned the good reports she's had from Emily's pre-school and James said, 'Lisa is very proud of her,' not 'I'm very proud' or 'we're very proud.'"

"That's terrible!" Andrea said. "I'd have kicked him right there."

"I was furious. I kept telling myself, 'you know he loves Emily, you know he loves Emily', just to stop myself from blowing up at him in front of Mrs. Albertini.

We'd taken my car so I was driving. I got into the driver's seat and James got into the passenger seat and he was waiting for me to drive us back to the hospital. I was too angry to drive safely, so we had to have our big argument out in the school parking lot."

The flight attendant delivered two ice-cold champagne floats. They were delicious, and Lisa took a long sip.

"Ooh, this is good. House is going to be sorry he missed this."

"Go on," said Andrea. "You were talking about the big fight."

"I'm getting to the screwed-up part, now," said Lisa. " I asked him straight out why he doesn't want to be Emily's father. "

"Very good, very direct."

"James said that even though he wants to be Emily father, he isn't her father and he's never going to be. He said, 'Some day, Emily's real father is going to realize what a great person Emily is, how smart and beautiful and thoughtful she is, and he's going to want to be a part of her life.' He said, 'When that happens, I don't want to come between them. I don't want Emily to have to chose between us or feel any guilt about loving her father.''"

"I thought Emily was conceived by a.i."

"Exactly. James had this whole weird scenario playing in his head that he never mentioned to me. It doesn't make any sense.

I said that it's highly unlikely that some anonymous sperm donor is going to come forward and want to be Emily's father.

He said he knows who Emily's father is. I was stunned. I didn't say anything. I thought that maybe he'd hired a private detective to track the sperm donor down, though why he would want to do that...

Then he said that Emily's father is House. He said that it's obvious that I would want the best possible genetic heritage for my child and that House is brilliant and gifted and athletic. He goes on and on about how wonderful House is, and how wonderful I am, and how Emily is going to be a really wonderful person and do amazing things. "

"Wow," said Andrea.

"Yeah, I had no idea this was going on his head. No idea at all," Lisa said. "I was so surprised. I couldn't think of anything to say. James looked so happy and excited. I thought, he's going to be so disappointed when he finds out House isn't Emily's father."

"And was he?"

"He didn't believe me. He said that he understood that this was something really private between House and me and Emily, but that he wouldn't tell anyone and he'd treat Emily just as he had before, and still love her as if she were his own. I had to offer to submit us all to DNA testing before he would believe me.

I asked him, 'Did you only love Emily because you thought she was House's daughter? Now that you know she isn't, will you still love her?'

He said that he loved Emily for herself, not for me and not for House. I hope he was telling the truth. I don't know because I can never tell when he's lying."

"So he wanted Emily to be the daughter of his wife and his best friend. That's screwed up."

"I know," Lisa took another sip of the champagne float. Her eyes were full of tears. "James loves House. He loved House before he loved me. I don't mean that he loves House in a _sexual_ way, of course."

"Are you sure?" Andrea asked. "If they're that close...sometimes the wife is the last one to know."

"James would tell me if he cheated. He promised me that, and he'll keep his promise," Lisa upended the almost empty glass to get the last few drops of her drink. "Besides, I would know. I've slept with both of them."


	8. Chapter 8

Part Eight

A Betrayal

House and Cuddy were provided with a luxurious two-bedroom suite a short distance from Andersen's corporate headquarters. The living room opened on to a large balcony with a table and chairs. The sun was just setting and the view was glorious. House took a bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and a couple of glasses from the small but well-stocked kitchen and went to sit out on the balcony. Lisa sat next to him. He poured her a glass.

Cuddy took a sip of the wine. "This is delicious," she said. " but I probably shouldnt be drinking it after all the champagne on the flight.¨

"So what's up with you and Wilson?" House asked.

"Nothing's up," Lisa said.

"Really," House said, infusing that one word with entire universes of disbelief. "Do you want me to list all the reasons why I know you're lying?"

Cuddy shook her head. "We're having some problems," she admitted. "That's why I decided to go on this trip."

"Because running away from problems works so well."

"No, I'm not running away. I came here to think about things. To make some decisions."

Cuddy picked up her glass, took a long sip, and leaned back, the dying rays of the sun warming her face. The warm breeze played with her curls.

Being in a relationship is so much work," she said. "I thought it would get easier but it doesn't. I thought there would be a point where it would effortless – where being together would be so easy and natural that you couldn't even imagine life without the other person. I don't think that's going to happen. Not with James."

"I wouldn't say WIlson's particularly hard to live with. Blow dries his hair at the crack of dawn, expects his host to wash half the dishes even when he's staying rent-free, but otherwise, no problem."

"It's not that he's difficult. It's just that I was expecting more than just sharing a home. More than just companionship. I was expecting "the marriage of true minds", some sort of deeper understanding and communication."

"You had pretty high expectations."

"Is it too much to expect your husband to talk to you? To let you know what he's thinking and feeling?"

"I would say that, yes, it's too much if your husband is James Wilson," he said.

He refilled Cuddy's glass and his own.

"So what do you think I should do?" Cuddy asked.

"That's your decision. Besides I'm biased."

Impulsively, House leaned over and kissed her. Her lips were soft and sweet with the taste of wine. At first, he felt a slight resistance, but that melted away. He touched her face, snared his fingers in the silken tangles of her wind-blown hair, and breathed in her clean, fresh scent. When at last they broke apart, House and Cuddy were both flushed and breathless. He leaned over and kissed her again. The first kiss had been slow and deliberate. This one was rougher and more passionate.

Cuddy stood up abruptly, knocking over her chair and almost upsetting the bottle of wine.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I have to think clearly and this ... confuses things."

She left him alone on the balcony.

--

Cuddy took a few moments to compose herself. When she returned to the balcony, she was carrying delicacies from the kitchen – fresh bread, cheese, pâté and fruit on a tray.

"I really don't feel like going out for dinner tonight," she said, avoiding his gaze. "There's plenty to eat in the kitchen."

"This looks delicious," House said.

Cuddy went back to the kitchen to get plates and cutlery.

"Lisa," he said, calling after her. "I probably hate the idea even more than you do, but we are going to have to talk."

The phone in the kitchen rang, and Cuddy went to answer it, welcoming the interruption.

"Probably Andersen's people," she called out to House, as she picked up the receiver.

"Hello... Sorry, I forgot. I guess I turned my cell off on the flight and didn't turn it on again...Yes, I'll talk to Andrea... Very good, no turbulence...Strawberries and champagne...Yes, put her on...Hello, lollipop!...How was your day?...That's sounds fun...Are you being a good girl for James and Marta?...Okay, it's getting late now, honey. I'm just going to say good night, now. Pleasant dreams. ...Bye, bye."

"Emily?" House asked. He was standing in the kitchen doorway.

Cuddy nodded. "She wouldn't go to sleep until I said good night to her. James wasn't happy. He had to call Andrea to get the phone number for the room, and apparently she wasn't very pleasant to him. She said that I'd probably turned off my phone because I didn't want to talk to him, and he should take the hint."

"She really hates Wilson. Did he jilt her at the senior prom? My alternate theory is that she's a closet lesbian and she wants you for herself." He smiled, and then became more serious. "Too bad for her. Tell her I'm next in line and I've been waiting for a very long time."

--

Emily had stayed up well past her bedtime, waiting for her mommy to call and say good-night. After the phone call, she went straight to bed and to sleep.

Wilson went to bed but his restless mind wouldn't let him sleep. He knew that his marriage, only three months old, was in danger, and that his wife was seriously contemplating divorce. He knew that he had to prove to Lisa that their relationship had a future, but the depressive side of his nature, always strongest in the lonely hours of the night, told him that it was useless to try and that divorce was inevitable.

At two-thirty in the morning, he gave up the futile struggle to sleep and went downstairs. He contemplated the medical literature he should read and the paperwork that he should complete, and then sat down in front of his laptop and played computer solitaire until dawn.

--

Julie looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. The puffiness around her eyes caused by too many tears and too many sleepless nights had been carefully concealed. Regular Botox injections kept wrinkles and sags at bay. Close examination, however, revealed a grey hair, which she pulled out, wincing slightly.

Her husband was in the foyer downstairs. He bellowed up at her. "I thought you told me you were gonna watch the gardener. The lazy bastard quit cutting the lawn halfway through. How many times have I told you – a smoke break here, una cerveza there, and pretty soon it's quitting time. I don't pay good money for Pablito to take a siesta!"

Julie could have explained that the gardener, whose name was Peter NOT Pablito, hadn't been able to finish his work because of a sudden rain shower, but Carl didn't stay long enough to listen. The door slammed behind him.

Julie decided that there was nothing more that makeup could do for her. She was as beautiful as she was going to get. She wandered into her bedroom and opened the door to her walk-in closet. Which one of her ensembles was appropriate for visiting a sick friend in hospital?

--

Rosemary Lum sat in the empty diagnostic room, eating her lunch and looking at the most recent issue of The Journal of Diagnostic Medicine. Her article, "An Unusual Presentation of Paraneoplastic Dementia in a Thirty-Eight Year Old Male," started on page 887, and Lum felt a sense of accomplishment at making a contribution, however small, to the medical literature. She imagined another doctor, faced with a perplexing case just as she had been. She thought of him finding the answer to the puzzle, perhaps saving the patient's life, because of her own article.

"So that's it, is it?" said a voice behind her ear.

Lum was startled. "Yes," she said.

"Did they spell your name correctly?" Tony Crane asked. "It's your first published article, huh? Did I tell you that Archives of Medical Research published my first article while I was still in med school?"

"Yes, you told me." Lum said in a calm, steady voice.

She thought that if she never reacted to Crane's provocations, he would eventually tire of needling her. It hadn't worked yet. In fact, despite her good intentions, she usually ended up insulting him back. She was ashamed of herself for engaging in petty arguments, but Lum had never met anyone else who could get on her nerves the way that Crane could.

"You should have given it to House to review before you sent it off," Crane said prissily. "That would have been professional courtesy."

"Don't tell me that you care about courtesy, professional or otherwise! Besides I did take it to House for review, but it just sat on his desk. I got tired of waiting, so I asked Dr. Wilson to review instead. He was the logical person, after House let me down. He's an oncologist and he was involved in the case."

"It was a betrayal," Crane said.

Lum almost rolled her eyes. Crane's devotion to House, his idol, was melodramatically excessive.

"Why do you care anyway?" she said, taking the last bite of her sandwich and checking her watch. "House wasn't particularly bothered; why should you be?"

"House _was_ hurt," Crane said. "He just didn't want you to see how upset he was. I wouldn't expect better from that bastard Wilson, but I thought more of you."

"When did Dr. Wilson become "that bastard"?" she asked.

Crane didn't answer. He snatched the journal from her hands and pretended to read her article. She grabbed it back, gently smoothing a crease he had made in the paper.

"You're just jealous because House likes Dr. Wilson more than he likes you. You want to be House's new best friend, but Dr. Wilson's in the way. Honestly, Crane, you really need to grow up."

"Don't be ridiculous," Crane said. "I called Wilson a bastard because he is one. You know he went to Cuddy behind my back to try to get me fired."

"He didn't."

"Yes, he did. Cuddy said there had been complaints against me, but she wouldn't tell me who. I know it was Wilson; he threatened to get me fired before."

"He wasn't _serious_. You were pestering him, and he said that to get you to go away. He was just annoyed."

"Wilson's trying to destroy me," Crane said. "He's an unhappy middle-aged failure. He'd be nothing without Cuddy and House, and he knows it. He's jealous of me, because I'm brilliant and I have a wonderful future ahead of me."

Lum couldn't help laughing. "If he _is_ trying to destroy you, I don't know why he bothers. I'm pretty sure you're going to destroy yourself."


	9. Chapter 9

Part Nine

"Misty Water-Coloured Memories"

Lisa Cuddy had made love to Gregory House only once, and that had been years ago. It was easy to be nostalgic about those days. Cuddy had been a young and eager reformer; House, despite a few minor setbacks earlier in his career, was a rising star in his profession; and Wilson was living the "white picket fence" American dream. Cuddy tended to forget the many sleepless nights she spent, worrying that the next decision she made would be her last – the one that would destroy her career and ruin her plans for the hospital. House didn't like to be reminded that even in those blessedly pain-free days before the infarction, he had been lonely and discontented. Even his greatest successes provided him with only the most temporary and fleeting satisfaction. Wilson was perhaps the least inclined to be deceived by the rosy glow we prefer to give to past events. He knew that his apparently perfect marriage to Bonnie was crumbling, turning to dust and ashes before his eyes. He maintained the façade of a happily married man out of desperation, hoping that he might become what he pretended to be.

Cuddy was new to the position of Dean of Medicine, and still faced opposition from some of the doctors and staff, who thought that she had been appointed because she was female and because she was attractive. Lisa Cuddy had been chosen for the sake of novelty; she was only a figurehead, and the real power was still up for grabs. They jockeyed for position, waiting for her to fail.

Lisa Cuddy had no intention of failing. She had ambitious plans for Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. She wanted to attract bright and visionary staff, but PPTH didn't have the resources to pay the large salaries that would attract the best and brightest. Her plan was to hire people with natural ability and potential, but who had not yet proven themselves. She had to gamble that she could nurture them, develop their skills, and help them become the kind of physicians that she needed. It was a risky strategy, but she thought it was necessary for PPTH's long-term success.

Her clearly articulated vision had convinced the hospital board to hire her, but to make it work she needed the support of hospital personnel. Dr. James Wilson was one of the few Heads of Department who eagerly supported her strategy. Wilson had been appointed the interim Head of Oncology by Cuddy's predecessor. His appointment had been a compromise. The Department had been split by the rivalry of two strong candidates for the position. Appointing either of them would mean that the other would quit, likely taking a sizeable proportion of staff with him. Wilson had agreed to take the position on a temporary basis, knowing that the hospital was still actively recruiting for a permanent Department Head. The other members of the department appreciated his dedication to his job, he was popular with patients, and he was seen as the right type – dependable, sensible and predictable.

Because his was only a temporary appointment, it would be natural to assume the Wilson's opinions counted for little, but Lisa Cuddy quickly learned that Wilson was more formidable than he appeared. He had convinced the rival parties in the Oncology Department to call a truce, after a bitter battle for supremacy that had lasted for the better part of a decade. Under him, the Department of Oncology had become a model of efficiency and harmony. Cuddy thought that Wilson's achievement was a near miracle, and she intended to make his appointment permanent as soon as possible.

Gregory House was Lisa Cuddy's most controversial new hire. The man was undoubtedly brilliant, but he'd been involved in a cheating scandal at Columbia; he was suspected of abusing alcohol and drugs; and he was notoriously arrogant and difficult to get along with. He had worked at half a dozen different hospitals, averaging less than a year at each. Cuddy argued that his tarnished reputation was all to the good, because it made other risk-averse institutions reluctant to hire him and reduced the salary he would otherwise command. Had he been as conscientious as he was brilliant, another institution with bigger pockets would have snapped him up in an instant. She made a commitment to oversee House personally, knowing that her own job depended on House's success. She created the new position of Head of Diagnostic Medicine specifically for him.

House must have known that Lisa Cuddy had risked her career for him, but he never showed the slightest sign of gratitude.

House made her life more difficult, but also more interesting. He was a polarizing figure in the hospital. His fans were drawn to him by his magnetic personality and his contempt for authority. They liked his "rock and roll attitude" and his "cool". House enjoyed being the centre of attention, but he kept his distance from his followers. He used his quick wit and his unerring ability to spot other people's vulnerabilities to repel anyone who came too close. His detractors were vocal and tended to be older and more established. They saw House's arrogance and his disdain for rules as a danger not only to his patients but also to the regular operation of the hospital. They wanted Cuddy to rein him in or fire him.

James Wilson didn't properly belong to either camp. Although he steadfastly supported House, he could not really be counted as one of his fans, since he was indifferent to concepts of "coolness" and he thought House's attitude towards authority was largely counterproductive. (When authority figures stood in Wilson's way, he found a way around them rather than confronting them directly.) Instead, Wilson admired House because he was a brilliant and inspired physician. He was in awe of House's diagnostic genius – his ability to save the lives of those who would have otherwise been lost. House's other gifts – his musicianship, his athleticism, his charisma – only confirmed for him what an extraordinary person House was, and how lucky PPTH was to have him.

--

Cuddy and Wilson were in her office. They had been discussing budgetary issues, but their conversation had veered away from its appointed course, as it often did, and now they were talking about House.

"We've received another complaint about House from one of the nurses. She's refusing to work with him and she's talking about legal action," Cuddy said.

"Does she have a case?"

"The legal department says that it's iffy. If she got the right jury, if she made a good impression and House made a bad one..."

"I think we can count on House making a bad impression."

"Then we could lose. He suggested a settlement."

"Would your House contingency fund cover it?"

"Yes, but that's not the problem. I think I'm losing control. I've tried everything that I can think of – rewards and punishments, logical argument, positive reinforcement – nothing works on House."

"House is easily bored," Wilson said. "He needs distractions, puzzles. Something more indirect might work with him. A bargain rather than an order. A game rather than a discussion."

"The work that we do isn't a game," Cuddy said. "Professional standards aren't bargaining chips."

"Of course not," Wilson said, "but if House wants to pretend that life and death don't matter, that everything's a game, why not go along with him?

House had already made you his adversary, just because you're his manager. You don't have to be his enemy, though. You can be his favourite opponent - his preferred sparring partner. It might work out better."

After her conversation with Wilson, Cuddy tried a different, slightly more playful approach with House. She was still his boss, but she had shown herself as a bit more willing to compromise and bargain with her problem subordinate. Of course, for every inch she gave, House wanted to take a mile, so the whole process required the most delicate judgement. Too firm a hand, and House would openly rebel and lapse into self-destructive behaviour, too lenient, and House would take advantage of her. She'd always been a straightforward person, and the manipulative aspect of what she was doing made her a bit uncomfortable. Luckily, she had Wilson to go to for advice. He was surprisingly good at manipulation and he understood House better than anyone else.

--

House's natural response to any authority was to try to subvert it. His repertoire was varied: from the subtlest dig to the most blatant sexist comment, but no matter what he said or did, Lisa Cuddy refused to be offended. She had too much at stake. House formed a grudging respect and affection for Cuddy. He had always been physically attracted to her. She was a beautiful woman, and he let her know how sexy he found her in the crudest of terms. On one level, he was perfectly genuine in his admiration, but on another, he was employing a familiar technique, using words as a barrier between them, keeping her at a distance.

One day, Lisa Cuddy decided to climb over the barrier.

They were attending an out-of-town conference, and alcohol, that wonderful disinhibitor, was, of course, involved. (Though neither one of them was actually drunk; they'd both had enough to skew their judgment and make them a little more reckless.) House started it. He made an openly provocative sexual statement. It was a challenge, and Cuddy did not feel like backing down this time. She responded in kind. It was very much like a game of chicken, a contest in sexual daring, each one challenging the other to take one more step over the line. But Cuddy was tired of games. She pulled House close to her and kissed him. She led him up to her bedroom. She took charge.

--

Cuddy had long recognized the sexual attraction between them. She was expecting his passion, but she was surprised by House's tenderness. For the first time, there seemed to be the possibility of a real relationship with him. It disconcerted her – maybe even scared her. House's personality was over-sized; Cuddy feared that being involved with him might make her lose her own identity and become subsumed in him. She also knew that House's genuine feelings wouldn't stop him from trying to use any relationship with her to his own advantage; it would be impossible for her to be both his boss and his lover. He would always want to come first – before her obligations to the hospital, and before her career. Her emotions did not blind her to his character.

House was equally confused. He avoided emotional complications. He saw himself as unsuited to romance, and distrusted his own ability to meet the needs of a partner. Although he was fully confident in his professional life, his experiences with personal relationships were limited and largely unsuccessful. In his opinion, love was a brief prelude leading inexorably to heartbreak and pain. Like every other human being, he wanted and needed to love and be loved, but he had been hurt so often that he lacked the capacity to trust.

Was it cowardice or common sense that turned them back – that stopped a one-night stand from becoming a real relationship? Even now, Lisa couldn't decide.

.


	10. Chapter 10

Part Ten

An Act of Malice

Lisa Cuddy had planned to use the time away from her family and the office to reflect on her marriage, but now that she was actually in California, she didn't want to think about her problems. She wanted to enjoy the early morning sunlight. She wanted to drink fresh-squeezed orange juice on the balcony and feel happy. When House came out to join her, Cuddy shut her eyes to block him out. She didn't want to talk anymore. She didn't want to analyze her emotions or make decisions. She just wanted peace.

House poured himself a glass of orange juice from the pitcher on the table, and looked at her intently, as if this close observation would reveal to him what she was thinking and feeling. Even with her eyes shut, Cuddy could feel the intensity of his gaze.

"James loves me," she said, after a long interval of silence. She opened her eyes.

"Sometimes that's not enough," House said.

"You're thinking of you and Stacy," Lisa said.

"As an example. There are plenty of others. My parents. Fifty years together, and the only reason they've lasted is that they live completely separate lives. My mother has her friends and family and my father has the military. Look at Wilson's parents. They never talk; they hardly even look at each other. I want more for you. I think you deserve more."

"You said that you thought "the marriage of true minds" was an unrealistic goal."

"It is, but that doesn't mean that I think that you should settle for what you've got now."

"I didn't "settle" for James," Cuddy said angrily. "I didn't marry your sidekick because I couldn't land you. And if you think you're better..."

"I think that when it comes to personal relationships, Wilson and I are probably about even. Neither of us is a very good bargain."

"But last night you were asking me to leave James for you."

"I said whether or not you leave Wilson is up to you," he said. "You and I are a separate issue. What we have is between us. It has nothing to do with him."

"You can't honestly believe that," Lisa said. "Of course it has to do with him. We're talking about having an affair."

"If that's what you want to call it." House said, irritated by Cuddy's insistence on defining the terms of a relationship that didn't even exist yet.

Everything would have been so much easier if Lisa had just given in to her attraction the previous night. If they had been swept up by a passion they could not control, Wilson would have felt compelled to forgiven them. Wilson understood human frailty, and it was his nature to forgive.

Now, every word that House and Lisa said would make their eventual affair that much more planned and premeditated. It was becoming harder for House to justify his own actions. Even Wilson would find it extremely difficult, perhaps impossible, to forgive House for such a deliberate betrayal.

The buzz of an intercom mercifully interrupted a conversation which had become uncomfortable for both of them. The driver had arrived to take them to the Andersen corporate headquarters.

--

James Wilson's schedule was a nightmare – appointments, staff meetings and conference calls, one after the other. He spent the morning breathless and apologetic, leaving early from one meeting and arriving late for the next. There was no time for a coffee or even a bathroom break. He spotted Julie as he was rushing from one appointment to another, but stopping to say hello would have made him impossibly late. He waved to her as he squeezed himself into a crowded elevator just before the doors shut. At one-thirty Wilson finally had his first break of the day - twenty minutes to bolt down a quick sandwich and pour himself a much needed cup of coffee. If he was lucky, he might be able to squeeze in a quick telephone call to Lisa, as well.

He hadn't counted on the scene that greeted him when he got off the elevator on his floor. Julie was being confronted by his departmental secretary and a pair of security guards. Wilson's secretary was red-faced with anger, but Julie maintained an icy hauteur.

"You don't have an appointment. You've got to leave," the secretary said.

"I told you," she said, enunciating extremely precisely, as if she were talking to someone with a limited grasp of spoken English, "that I am waiting for Dr. James Wilson, and I have no intention of leaving until I see him. If anyone touches me, I am suing that person for assault."

The security officers did not look at all unnerved by the prospect of litigation and advanced towards her. A small audience began to gather, drawn by raised voices and the possibility of violence. Wilson spotted Tony Crane at the edge of the crowd. House's fellow was smirking, enjoying the prospect of seeing Julie dragged away like a criminal.

"Don't!" Wilson called to security, "I'm Dr. Wilson. There's been a misunderstanding. Julie was waiting to see me. "

Wilson ignored the baleful glance of the departmental secretary, which told him exactly what she thought about the company that he was keeping, and opened the door to his office for Julie. He followed her in. The disappointed crowd dispersed.

"Did you have to get into an argument with my secretary?" he asked. "She's going to subject me to the silent treatment for at least a week. I really don't like starting each day with her looking at me like I'm something the cat coughed up. "

Julie ignored his complaint and sat down on the couch. Wilson went to his desk and picked up his phone.

"I was going to get you a list of shelters, wasn't I? I'll call one of the social workers right now," said Wilson.

"Don't bother. I'm not here for a list of shelters," Julie said. "I came here to talk to you. I _was_ going to say that I came to the hospital to see a sick friend and decided to drop by your office on a whim, but I know you've been avoiding me all morning, so that's not going to work."

"I've had a very busy schedule today."

"And obviously you think I have nothing better to do with my time then hang around here waiting for a few seconds of your time like some pathetic, desperately lonely stalker."

"I didn't say that," Wilson protested. "If you had phoned me to let you know you were coming..."

"Hiding in this horrible maze of a place. It brings back memories of our marriage," Julie said bitterly.

"I wasn't hiding; I was working."

"Yes, the sick and dying always did take precedence over me. And staff meetings, and paperwork and, of course, House. Where is House anyway? I would have thought he'd have barged in by now. He never could stand it when I came to see you at the hospital. He hates it when I invade his territory."

"House is out of town," Wilson said. "Julie, I really don't want to rehash old arguments today. I don't have the time or the energy. What do you want? "

"You _are_ looking peaky," Julie said, eying her ex-husband. "A little worn around the edges. I'm not surprised. Lisa Cuddy is a very demanding woman."

Wilson sighed.

"Oh, don't look so long-suffering," Julie said. "You've kept me waiting all morning and I haven't had anything to eat, so I'm a little bitchy. What do you expect? Put me in a better mood by taking me out for lunch."

"Why don't you just tell me why you came to see me?"

"That was blunt bordering on rude. Cuddy is definitely rubbing off on you. "

Wilson stood up and faced her sternly, hands on hips. He was becoming impatient with Julie's games.

"Fine, I won't mention your new wife again. I've come to talk about Carl. I need some objective advice, and unfortunately I don't have anyone else to talk to. My family is an embarrassment, and my best friend Claire ...Claire died three months ago."

"I'm sorry."

"Ovarian cancer. It was very quick."

"I didn't know."

"She went to Princeton General. I told her that she should see you - that you were the best - but she thought it would be awkward. It was just like her to be more concerned about social embarrassment than cancer."

Julie eyes filled with tears. Wilson came over and sat down next to Julie on the couch. He put his arm around her to comfort her. Julie leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. He pulled a tissue from the pocket of his lab coat and handed it to her.

Wilson held her and rocked her back and forth as she cried.

--

From the balcony outside Wilson's office, Tony Crane took another couple of shots with his cellphone camera. Lighting conditions were far from perfect, and most of the photos were unusable, but the remaining few told an interesting story. Quietly he edged toward the balcony wall and climbed over; then let himself back into House's empty office.

--

Andrea met House and Cuddy in the lobby, a cold and forbidding space of glass and steel. She handed them their visitor's badges and lead them to the elevators.

"Here's your agenda for the day," she said, handing Cuddy a sheet of paper. "House and the other subjects have a short meet and greet and then there's a questionnaire for House to fill out. We can meet for lunch afterwards. Then you're free until six, when Alan Andersen is hosting a reception for all for you all. I can't stick around, but you have my cellphone number if you need me."

--

The "meet and greet" was mainly an opportunity for Andersen employees to get their photographs in the company magazine. Various managers and supervisors had their pictures taken with the test subjects (the celebrity chef was especially popular) while House raided the food table, especially favouring the chocolate-filled croissants.

Then House and the other unconventional thinkers were led off for the first round of questions. The research assistant assigned to House had freckles and chipmunk cheeks. She looked like a child playing the part of a doctor in an elementary school play. She led House to a small room sparsely furnished with a table and two chairs and gave House a survey to complete and an HB pencil. She told him that she would be back in seventy-five minutes to collect it and disappeared out the door.

House looked at the "questionnaire". It was actually the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory, a widely-used psychological test used to assess and diagnose mental illness and one with which he was thoroughly familiar. It had absolutely nothing to do with innovative thinking.

House amused himself by answering the questions as if he were Samantha Hart, one of his favourite soap opera characters. Samantha was a pregnant seventeen-year-old shop-lifter with multiple personality disorder. When she felt frightened and in danger, she usually became Nikita, a tough-talking and sometimes violent lesbian. Once in a while, she became Savannah instead, a flirtatious Dixie belle with the most unconvincing Southern accent House had ever heard. House liked Savannah best, and he let her answer most of the questions.

--

Lisa had brought her laptop and cellphone with her so that she could keep in touch with the hospital. Sitting in the reception area with her laptop balanced on her knees, she reviewed grant proposals and requests for clinical trials. She checked her e-mail at regular intervals. Methodically, she deleted most of them, responded to a few, and sent others to folders organized by topic and date.

One of the e-mails was labelled urgent. It was from one of the emergency room physicians: "A serious problem requires your immediate attention. Please open the attachment for details." Lisa was annoyed by the cryptic wording of Dr. Ghoreshi's message, but she opened the attachment anyway. It was a photograph of James and Julie. James was embracing his ex-wife.

Lisa closed the attachment. She shut her eyes, wanting to erase the sight of that photograph from her memory, but the grainy, unfocused picture was much more vivid in her mind's eye than it had been on the screen. The photograph on the screen had been too blurry for her to make out either person's facial expression, but Lisa's imagination gave Julie a triumphant, feral grin. Her memories of their wedding supplied James with a look of tenderness, devotion and love. She felt nauseous. The pure pain the image evoked was astonishing. She had to gasp for breath.

While she waited for the symptoms of a sudden emotional shock to subside (putting a name to her physical symptoms did nothing to alleviate them), Lisa tried to decide what to do. Amidst all the confusion and uncertainty, only one thing was clear. She loved James Wilson.


	11. Chapter 11

Part Eleven  
A Decision

Marta, Emily's nanny, met Wilson at the door wearing her coat, obviously anxious to leave.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Wilson said, for at least the fifth time that day. "I hope I haven't made you late for your class."

"There's no class this evening. I have a study date," Marta said. "We're going to go over anatomy flashcards together and quiz each other."

Wilson smiled. A "study date" made him think of nervous junior high school students. Marta was only in her early twenties, but she was so calm, serious and determined that it was difficult to picture her as a giggling teenager.

"Oh, Mrs. Kalman had a word with me when I went to pick Emily up from pre-school. She said Emily was acting up in class and wondered if there were any problems at home that might be bothering her."

Wilson nodded. "Emily's just a bit upset because Lisa's away on business," he said, although he knew that Lisa had taken short business trips before, and Emily had always coped well. He and Lisa had tried to hide the strain and tension in their marriage from Emily, but obviously she'd picked it up anyway.

Marta rushed out the door, and Wilson went to see Emily. She was in the living room, utterly absorbed in playing her toy xylophone. She'd shown musical talent at an early age, and could already play recognizable tunes. Lisa had decided to enrol in her music lessons. Lisa wanted her to learn violin, but Wilson, who usually left parenting decisions to Lisa, argued persuasively for piano instead.

No one in Lisa's family could carry a tune. (The other wedding guests had winced and pleaded for mercy when the Cuddys tried to sing "Hava Nagila" at Lisa's wedding.) Emily must have inherited her musical gift from her father. Standing in the doorway, Wilson watched Emily play. Her absorption in the music was total and she did not see him. She reminded Wilson strongly of House at this moment; she had the same look of concentration that he had often seen on House's face as he grappled with a difficult diagnosis.

Wilson had first suspected that House was Emily's father even before Emily was born. He and House had been talking over lunch, and House had offered to tell him the father of Cuddy's baby if Wilson would do a month's clinic hours for him. Wilson hadn't taken House seriously; it seemed at the time to be another of House's ploys to avoid clinic rotation. Cuddy hadn't talked to anyone else in the hospital about the details of her pregnancy, and Wilson doubted that she had confided in House. Besides, even if he had wanted to take House up on his offer, Wilson had no time to do House's clinic hours on top of his own work. Still, somewhere in the back of Wilson's mind a seed had been planted. He already knew that House had been involved in Cuddy's decision to have a child. Wilson considered the possibility that House might know the identity of the child's father or even that House might be the father.

When he saw Cuddy's newborn daughter in House's arms, he knew for sure. It was not only the baby's resemblance to House, but also the way that House looked at her. Wilson had seen that a thousand times on the faces of his patients' fathers. It was the unmistakeable look of fatherly love. Wilson, who had never been a father and who knew that he was unlikely, at his stage of life, ever to become one, could hardly bear to witness it. To his discredit, Wilson had been overcome by jealousy. He'd felt it like a physical pain – something sharp and jagged in his chest. Then House had put Emily down and walked out of the room. Wilson was certain that nobody else had seen that look on House's face, but he would never forget it.

Since his argument with Lisa, Wilson had been trying to convince himself that he was wrong – that he'd been deluding himself all along and seeing only what he wanted to see. He hadn't succeeded. House _was_ Emily's biological father; it was a fact. It had been demonstrated in a thousand different incidents. He could see House in Emily just as clearly as he could see Lisa. Wilson loved and respected Lisa, but even her obviously earnest protestations could not change the truth. It puzzled him. He believed that Lisa was telling the truth, or at least the truth to the best of her knowledge, when she said that House was not Emily's father. Yet he clearly was.

Emily even shared House's gift for languages. She had learned Spanish from Marta effortlessly, and now she was picking up French from one of her pre-school friends. The tune she was playing was a French children's song, "Le Carillon de Vendôme". Emily sang as she played, and her voice was as clear and true as a church bell. When she finished her song, Emily looked up and finally noticed Wilson.

She got up from the floor and ran to him. This was unusual for her; she hugged and kissed her mother, but had never been very demonstrative with anyone else. Wilson picked her up and kissed her on the cheek. He wanted her to feel secure and happy and loved, no matter what happened between him and Lisa.

--

Halfway through Alan Andersen's reception speech, Cuddy left the room. Her exit was discreet, but did not escape Alan Andersen, who gave a dirty look to her departing back, before continuing with prepared remarks. Andersen was in the midst of an image makeover, but the makeover team still had a lot of work to do. Glimpses of his real self kept showing through his manufactured image.

The team had dressed him in "California business casual" rather than the severe bullet-grey suits he normally wore. His lupine grimace, all teeth and menace, had been transformed into the simulacrum of a warm smile. The speech he was delivering had been written by the best speechwriter in the business. It featured a few self-deprecating comments to demonstrate Andersen's human qualities and a sprinkling of comfortable old jokes designed to put the audience at ease. Andersen hadn't been particularly impressed; he thought the anecdotes make him look like a bumbler and the jokes were inane.

The speechwriter explained, "The jokes don't have to be funny. It's better if they're not. They're there to establish your character. You're supposed to be an everyday Joe. You're supposed to be the guy who forgets the name of his boss's wife and drops his car keys down the elevator shaft. Someone relatable. Right now, everyone thinks you're Mr. Burns; we want you to be Homer Simpson."

The pop culture reference meant nothing to Andersen, who never read a book or watched a television program that wasn't directly concerned with business, money or power. However, he had paid good money for the man's advice, so he followed it. It seemed to be working. His jokes had elicited a few smiles and polite chuckles. He'd won most of them over. He could easily spot the hold-outs: the woman who had rudely left during one of his anecdotes; the tall, thin man who had been sitting next to her; and, of course, Andrea Winstanley and his other employees, who knew him too well to be deceived.

When the tall man turned to follow his companion out of the room, Andersen had had enough. He couldn't tolerate this overt disrespect.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked.

"To the men's room. I'm feeling a bit queasy. I'm not sure whether it was the cold, greasy hors d'oeuvres or the pabulum you're serving up now, but something isn't agreeing with me," House said.

"I'm delivering a speech. Nobody leaves while I'm talking."

"Fine, "House said. "I'll wait." He turned around and gestured for Andersen to continue, an expression of polite interest on his face.

In his annoyance, Andersen had nearly forgotten everything his makeover team had drilled into him. He tried out the "friendly smile" they had taught him, but it looked more like the bared teeth of a threatened animal. An uncomfortable murmur arose from the audience, but Andersen didn't notice. His handlers groaned. They had noticed that the man Andersen had confronted walked with a cane. That was all they needed - Andersen dressing down a cripple!

Alan Andersen couldn't remember where he'd left off. He started to tell a joke, but a few nervous titters from the audience let him know that he'd told that one already. While Andersen tried to find his place, House looked at his watch. There were a few more titters from the audience. House began swinging his cane back and forth rhythmically. The regular motion seemed to have an hypnotic effect on the audience; they were paying more attention to House than to Andersen. Then House began to whistle. At first it was the tuneless whistle of a bored commuter waiting for the next bus, but it gradually become more elaborate. It was "Scarborough Fair", complete with elaborate flourishes and crescendos, in a performance that would have slaughtered the competition on America's Got Talent.

Andersen didn't know how to deal with this open insubordination while still maintaining his "Homer Simpson" persona. He froze. Andrea stepped up to rescue him.

"Thank you, Alan," she said, remembering to call him by his first name as the image team had recommended. "I'm sure we're all really excited by this project. Humankind is threatened by many problems that conventional wisdom hasn't been able to solve. I think we can all agree that "unconventional wisdom" deserves a shot!"

Andrea smiled up at her boss and began clapping; the image handlers and other Andersen functionaries joined in a second later, and finally, mercifully, the audience began to applaud.

--

House slipped out as soon as Andrea began to speak.

He spotted Cuddy down the hallway. Her back was to him and she was returning her cellphone to her purse. She'd been distracted at lunch, so that he and Andrea had been forced to talk to each other, which was awkward for both of them. Then she had said that she had a headache, and spent all afternoon resting in her bedroom. Through the closed door, he'd heard the murmur of her voice, and could tell she was talking to Wilson. There was a special tone she used when she was talking to her husband or to her daughter – a voice she used only for those closest to her.

"Phoning home again? Is Emily sick?"

Cuddy jumped. She had been lost in thought, and House's voice startled her.

"No," she said. "Just saying goodnight."

"It's ten o'clock in Princeton – well past her bedtime."

"Yes, James told me that. I must have got the time zones confused."

House looked sceptical. Cuddy was an experienced traveller and very well organized. She never got time zones confused.

"Something's up," he said. "Did you tell Wilson about last night?"

"Your kiss was wonderful. I'm sure that when I tell James, he's going to be upset, but I haven't told him yet."

"Kisses, plural, and you _were _kissing me back," House took in the implications of what she had said. "You said 'when' you tell James, not 'if'."

"I'm going back home tomorrow."

"You're going back to tell Wilson that you're leaving him. You want to be with me instead." House said it because he wanted it to be true, but he already knew that wasn't what Cuddy had decided.

Cuddy shook her head. "If something was going to happen between us, it would have happened by now. If you and I were a good idea, we both would have tried harder twenty years ago."

"I was young." House said. "I didn't know what we had. Now I do."

"What we had was like a bolt of lightning – very hot and very intense. It wasn't lasting. It wasn't ever the kind of relationship that would keep us warm on winter evenings. "

"That's what blankets are for," House said flippantly.

Cuddy tried to smile.

"I'm not a cozy person, "House said. " I'm not easy to live with. We wouldn't live in perfect suburban bliss, as seen in the pages of Martha Stewart Living."

House kissed her on the lips forcefully, and his kiss was sweet and strong and passionate. It should have sent tingles up and down the length of her body, but this time Lisa did not respond. She did not withdraw, however. She let House kiss her, and she let him register her lack of reaction. When he had finished, she looked into his eyes. She knew that she had hurt him, and her voice was heavy with regret.

"I'm sorry, House. I didn't mean to stir up all these feelings. I thought we'd both left them far behind."

"I didn't leave them behind," House said quietly, but Cuddy had turned away, distracted by the noise of partygoers, and she didn't hear him.

The reception spilled out into the hallway. She spotted Andrea, who looked red-faced and angry. Cuddy had missed House's performance so she had no idea why Andrea was frowning. Cuddy waved in her direction, and turned back to House.

"I don't think it's a good idea for me to stay at the suite with you, so I've asked Andrea to put me up for the night. I would like to talk with you before I go. I really need an honest opinion about something, and you're the most honest person I know."


	12. Chapter 12

Part 12  
Confession

"What do you think?" Cuddy asked, leaning over House's shoulder as he examined the sheets of paper. She'd had printed out a colour copy of the photo and a copy of the e-mail message that had accompanied it. They were sitting at a coffee shop a block away from the Andersen headquarters.

House wished he had a magnifying glass. Not that it would bring out any more detail to the blurry picture he was examining, but because it would be the perfect prop for the situation.

"It's a photo of Wilson and Julie in Wilson's office. It must have been taken from the balcony outside Wilson's office. It's a really crappy picture. Probably taken by an amateur using a cheap cellphone camera."

"I don't care about that," said Cuddy. "Do you think my husband is having an affair?"

House almost smiled. A half an hour ago, Cuddy had just officially told him that there was no hope for any kind of sexual or romantic relationship between them. Now she was asking him to decide the fate of her marriage. If he convinced her that Wilson was being unfaithful, she might decide to dump Wilson too. Then House would have company in his misery. He and Wilson could go out drinking or just sit in House's apartment watching sad movies. Wilson would try not to weep, (but he always cried at sad movies, even when his heart hadn't just been crushed by a hospital administrator) and House would experience the vicarious relief of watching someone else cry, and then the added pleasure of making fun of Wilson afterwards.

Unfortunately, Cuddy had asked him for an honest opinion.

"The photo is inconclusive," he said. "His arm is around her, but his pants are still on and his tongue's not down her throat. I think that if the photographer had a shot that showed something more incriminating, he would have sent it instead."

"Dr. Ghoreshi."

"What?"

"The photographer – Dr. Ghoreshi. The e-mail is from him."

"The e-mail came from someone who signed on using his name and password, but almost certainly not from Ghoreshi, whoever he is. I have a pretty good idea who did send it, but that's not important."

"Do you think Wilson loves her?"

"No. Of course, Wilson has been known to sleep with people he doesn't love or even like. Even marry them. He thinks it's impolite to refuse," House shook his head in mock commiseration. "You married a slut."

Cuddy snatched the picture from House and held it up close to her eyes, as if she might see some telling detail on closer examination.

"There's one sure way to find out," House said. "Ask him. When he cheats, he tells his wife. Always. Phone him. It's not even eleven o'clock in Princeton. He'll still be up."

"I can't ask him over the phone," Cuddy said.

"I don't see why not. It's what a phone is for," House argued.

He glanced at the second sheet. "Did you notice this? The sender cc'd this to the Ben Hur Land Development Company. Ben Hur for Bensonhurst. He sent this photo to Julie's husband, too."

--

Going through the e-mail sent to the company's general e-mail address was a pointless task, usually delegated to a new hire. Most were ads for discount pharmaceuticals or guaranteed cures for erectile dysfunction. The few half-way legitimate e-mails were from small-timers - nobodies who hoped to interest Ben Hur in developing their ten acres of mosquito infested swamp-front property. Small-timers were always bragging about their connections: their cousin who's an alderman, their neighbour on the town council. They were pathetic, but still the new boy had to read them all and answer each one with a polite form letter.

This particular new boy, whose name was Mike, had gone through twenty messages in less than a minute, when he came across the one from Dr. Ghoreshi. The message was pretty uninformative, almost suspiciously cagy, and the e-mail had an attachment. He had been told never to open unsolicited attachments. However, the e-mail was from a doctor and he recognized the name of the hospital where he worked. Mike did a quick visit to the hospital's website, which confirmed that Dr. Ghoreshi did work there. He was an emergency room doctor. That made sense to Mike. Everyone knew that Ben Hur cut a few corners, and Ben Hur's subcontractors cut a few more. There were bound to be a few workplace injuries. Maybe the attachment related to an injury or a death. The attachment was a JPEG too, and JPEGs were usually safe, weren't they?

Mike opened it up. It was an out-of-focus photograph. He thought at first that it might be a juicy piece of amateur porn, but it was nothing. Two people sitting on a sofa. Big deal. Mike was new to the company. He hadn't been a part of the firm when Julie made her star turn at the office Christmas party, and he hadn't seen her picture in the company's newsletter. He didn't recognize her.

He forwarded a copy of the e-mail (now titled "Why do people send me this shit?) to his friend Paul. Paul had been with the company longer, and he recognized Julie. He forwarded the e-mail (now titled Take a look at the boss's wife!) to a couple of his good friends. Within an hour everyone in the company but Carl Bensonhurst had seen the photo, and it had made its way across town to his competitors. Bensonhurst's secretary was too afraid to bring the matter to the great man's attention herself. She printed a paper copy of the photo, put it in an inter-office envelope, and left the envelope in Bensonhurst's in-tray. Then she told everyone she had a dentist's appointment and left early.

She needn't have bothered to leave early. Carl didn't open the envelope until eight p.m., when he decided to pop into the office after a quick visit to his girlfriend's dorm room.

--

The video is in black and white with a distracting date stamp in the corner. Sound and image quality are both no more than adequate. Two men sit across from each other at a table. There is a pad of paper and a pen on the table. One man is in uniform; the other is in shirt sleeves. His shirt is stained and splattered. The uniformed man is calm and business-like; the other is agitated. His speech is slightly slurred.

--

Julie went to a play with a group of her friends. They stopped for coffee and dessert after the play, so she didn't get home until after eleven. Carl was waiting for her. He had been drinking heavily. Julie had never seen Carl drunk before.

"Where were you?" he asked.

"I went to a play with my friends. I told you I was going, remember?"

"Your friends, huh? Which friends?"

"Diane and Sarah and Paul. The usual group."

"Uh-huh. What play?"

There was a tiny hesitation before Julie named the play she had seen – Move Over, Mrs. Markham. It was a farce, full of slamming doors and mistaken identities, and Julie wished she could say something more dignified and serious, like Hamlet or A Doll's House. Carl noticed that hesitation, and he took it as an indication that Julie was lying.

--

"She made a fool of me. I phoned up a friend of mine, and he already knew. He'd seen the picture already. Someone sent it to his cellphone. Everybody knew."

The uniformed man nods. His manner is sympathetic. They are two men together, and they understand the perfidy of women.

"It's not like I kept her under lock and key. She went out almost every night. Plays, movies, even art galleries. She loves that cultural crap. I didn't even care if she had a guy with her. Most of the guys who like that stuff are fags, but even if the guy was straight I let her. I trusted her."

--

Carl advanced toward her, and Julie backed up until her back was against the door. Carl had a sheet of paper in one of his hands and he held it up in front of Julie's face.

"Uh-huh. Are you gonna stick with that story? Are you sure? What about this?"

The sheet was too close to Julie's face. She couldn't focus on it. It was just a black and white blur blocking out the rest of the world. She had to get away from Carl until he calmed down. She reached for the doorknob.

--

"I'm not gonna lie. I'm gonna be totally honest here. I've got a girlfriend. College girl. Julie doesn't mind. Saves her the effort. I know that nowadays you're not supposed to say it, but it's true – most women, nice women, don't like sex. Julie was always saying I was too rough. My girlfriend, she likes sex, but then she's not "nice". She's smart, but she's from peasant stock. I tell her she's a natural whore, and she just laughs.

I'm not the jealous type. You see what happened, and you think I'm jealous. I'm a Neanderthal. I'm not. Julie is free as a bird. She could have had sex with one of those "cultural" guys, and as long as she was quiet about it, and nobody found out, I wouldn't have been all that upset. Sauce for the goose, right?

Maybe I would have divorced her, but I wouldn't have been all that upset."

"You seem like a reasonable man to me," the uniformed man says.

The man in the blood-splattered shirt nods emphatically. "Too reasonable for my own good."

--

Carl dropped the paper and grabbed Julie's wrist. He grabbed her arm with his other hand and dragged her away from the door. Julie's high heels left marks on the smooth marble flooring of the foyer.

"You aren't running away! You owe me! I gave you the clothes you're wearing! I gave you the house you're living in, you ungrateful bitch! You think you can get away with humiliating me! You think you can make me look like a fool!"

"You're not a fool, Carl. I don't think that. Nobody thinks that."

"They're laughing at me!" Carl roared, and Julie was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. There was something primitive and irrational in Carl's voice that chilled her soul.

--

"I only hit her once," Carl says.

The policeman nods, but he knows the suspect is lying. The doctors say there were multiple blows.

"It was the way she landed on the marble floor. Marble's slippery and very hard. It was an accident."

"But you did hit her?"

"Once. She got me so mad. She provoked me. There was provocation. Put that in your report. Provocation." Carl pronounces the word slowly and carefully.

"Everything goes in your report."

"Good." Carl leans forward and watches the policeman make a note on his pad. "I made a mistake. I waited for her. I should have gone after her boyfriend first. Settled him fair and square first."

There is a knock at the door and another uniformed figure comes to take Carl away. The uniformed officer picks up the pad and pen and leaves the room. There is a brief shot of an empty room, and then there is nothing but static.


	13. Chapter 13

Part Thirteen

Early Morning Phone Calls

After Cuddy left, House went back to his suite. Cuddy's rejection had hurt him deeply, so he tried the traditional male remedy for emotional pain – alcohol. Alan Andersen used the suite for corporate events and hospitality, so it was well stocked with a variety of wines and spirits. House found a bottle of very expensive 20-year-old single malt whisky. There was only an inch or two left in the bottle. He poured himself a glass. It was a bit too peaty for his taste, but it would have to do. He poured himself another.

After several drinks, House needed to talk to someone. His usual choice for the role of confidant, Wilson, was obviously out of the question. He decided to call Rosemary Lum instead. He listened to the phone ring several times. When he reached voice mail, he hung up and redialled. Finally, after his fourth try, he got her in person. He didn't bother to say hello.

"I think you should reconsider your wedding," he said seriously.

"Dr. House, is that you?"

"Henry says he loves you, but you can't know for sure. Maybe he's lying."

"It's three o'clock in the morning here. Unless you have something work-related to say, I'm going to hang up now."

"Even if he does love you," House said, "that doesn't mean he won't hurt you. He'll break your heart. People are fickle. He'll have sex with your best friend, or he'll run off to Barbados with your personal trainer."

"I don't have a personal trainer," Lum said. "Good-bye."

He heard Lum call him a nasty name in gutter Cantonese just before she hung up.

House put down the phone and picked up the nearly empty bottle of whisky and upturned it to get the last few drops. Then he went to the refrigerator for the half bottle of Dom Perignon he'd noticed earlier. To hell with the rules about never mixing grain and grape, House was a born rule-breaker. He'd drink himself into oblivion with style.

--

Wilson received the phone call at three thirty. It was one of the emergency room doctors, who had recognized Wilson's ex-wife from her driver's license photo.

"There was internal bleeding," the doctor said, "and the surgeons had to remove her spleen, but she's stable for now. Technically, I shouldn't be calling you," he said, " but I thought you'd want to know. She's in post-op, but it's touch and go. I've seen people in head-on collisions in better shape."

"Is there anyone with her?" Wilson asked.

"Just the police. The husband's been arrested and we don't know how to contact the family. Maybe you know how to get in touch with her next of kin?"

"She doesn't have any family," Wilson lied.

Julie had spent much of her life trying to escape her family; Wilson wasn't going to give them power over her when she was at her most vulnerable.

"I'm coming to the hospital. I'll be there as soon as I can."

Wilson phoned Marta, Emily's nanny, to see if she could babysit, but there was no answer. He left her a voice mail, asking her to phone him at the hospital as soon as she woke up. Wilson pulled on some clothes and then went to get Emily. She was in her pyjamas, and he didn't bother getting her dressed. He picked her up gently, took her to the car, and buckled her in. Her eyelids fluttered as he covered her, using his coat as a blanket.

By the time he reached the hospital, Emily was awake. It was dark, and she had no idea where they were. The last thing she remembered was her cozy bed and now she was in a strange place she didn't recognize. She was frightened and confused.

Wilson parked his car in the staff parking lot. He turned around and smiled reassuringly at Emily.

"Hi, Emily," he said. "I'm sorry I had to wake you up so early."

"It's still dark out."

"Yes, it's still night-time," Wilson said, stepping out of the car and going to the rear door of the car to unbuckle his stepdaughter.

"Where are we?"

"We're at the hospital," Wilson said. "It looks different in the dark, doesn't it? See, there's the door that opens by itself. Do you recognize where we are, now?"

Emily nodded.

"I have to go to the hospital because a friend of mine is very sick," Wilson said, picking Emily up and carrying her towards the lighted entrance. Now that Emily was no longer afraid, she was falling back to sleep. Her voice was slurred and her eyes were half-shut.

"Are you going to make her better?"

"The other doctors are looking after her," Wilson said.

He headed up to post-op stopping at the nurses' station to ask for her room number.

"She's in the second room on the left, Dr. Wilson, but you don't want to take your little girl in there. It's pretty ugly. You don't want her to see that. She shouldn't be here at all."

"I couldn't find a sitter," Wilson said. "Could you watch Emily for a bit for me, while I see Julie?"

"I've got patients to look after. I'm not a babysitter," she said.

Wilson shifted Emily from one shoulder to another. "She's asleep," he said. "She won't be any trouble and I won't be long. I just want Julie to know that someone who cares about her is here. Please."

The nurse relented. Before she could change her mind again, Wilson set Emily down in one of the chairs at the nurse's station and headed for Julie's room.

--

Wilson's colleague had listed her injuries. In addition to her ruptured spleen, she had suffered a broken cheekbone, broken jaw, broken nose, fractured skull, broken wrist, broken arm, and several broken and cracked ribs. Even though he knew exactly what to expect, Wilson was still taken aback. Julie was unrecognizable; her face was swollen and discoloured and her beautiful red hair was gone; they'd had to shave her to treat her head injuries.

"Julie," he said. "It's James. I'm here. "

Wilson held her bruised hand as gently as if it were a newly-hatched bird. He wanted her to feel the warmth of human contact, but he didn't want to cause her any more pain.

"I let you down. You said you were afraid; you said Carl had been violent before. I didn't listen. I knew that you were desperate and unhappy, but I didn't do anything to help you.

I haven't been a good friend to you, and I know that I wasn't a good husband. I've never been what you needed me to be. I'm so sorry, Julie. You deserve so much better.

Julie, honey, I'm going to try to make it up to you. I'm going to listen to you. Please, Julie, just get better, and I promise that I'll help you get the kind of life you want."

--

Wilson heard footsteps and turned around. A police officer entered the room.

"Dr. Wilson? I'm Detective Karen Little. I'm going to need to ask you a few questions."

"Right now? My stepdaughter is waiting for me at the nurse's station. I can't leave her long."

"That's fine. Go get your stepdaughter and then we'll talk. You're a doctor here, right? A departmental head. So we'll go talk in your office, if that's okay."

"Fine." Wilson turned back to his ex-wife. "Good-bye, Julie. I'll be back soon."

He and the police officer headed toward the nurse's station.

"You were talking to her. Do you think she can hear you?"

"I know she can't. She's under anaesthesia. But there were some things I had to say to her, and I might not get another chance."

"So I guess it's more for your benefit than for her."

"I guess so," Wilson admitted. They'd reached the nurse's station. Emily opened her eyes briefly as Wilson picked her up.

"Is it morning yet?"

"Almost," he said.

--

Wilson put Emily down on the office couch. He winced as he got up. Either Emily was getting too heavy to be carried, or Wilson was getting too old. Wilson didn't want Emily to overhear their conversation, so he and the detective talked on the balcony.

Det. Little had seen the photograph that Carl Bensonhurst had received, and realized immediately that it must have been taken from this balcony. She noticed the low wall that separated it from the balcony of another office. She decided not to mention the photograph immediately. She'd wait to see whether Wilson would bring it up himself.

While she asked the usual questions about his relationship to the victim and her husband, Det. Little was assessing Wilson. He was nervous in the presence of a police officer, which was common enough, but he confined his answers strictly to what was asked and did not elaborate. This was unusual among civilians, and especially among the nervous ones. It argued that he must have prior experience dealing with the police, and had learned to be cautious.

She asked if he could give her the names and addresses of Julie's family, so that they could be informed. Wilson said that he had never met any family, and did not know whether Julie had any relatives. This was so implausible (since he and Julie had been married for several years and surely Julie must have talked about her past) that it drew Little's attention. Wilson was almost certainly lying, but she could not tell. His voice and demeanour did not change and he did not hesitate. The lie itself was probably unimportant – Little had no reason to believe that Julie's family had anything to do with her assault – but it was interesting that this apparently law-abiding citizen was such a skilled liar.

"What are you going to charge him with?" Wilson asked.

"That's not up to us. It's up to the D.A.'s office. Probably aggravated assault."

"It should be attempted murder," Wilson said. "The emergency room doctor told me that she fractured her skull falling to the floor. She would have been unconscious at that point, but he kept on. He kicked her until he ruptured her spleen and broke her ribs, while she was lying there unconscious and unable to defend herself. She nearly died. She could still die."

Wilson's voice broke, and he started to cry. Det. Little was used to the emotional responses of witnesses and victims. There were times when an emotional reaction had been useful to her - when it had brought to light information that would otherwise have been buried - but most of the time it was an inconvenience. She did not think that offering people comfort was part of her job.

"So you said your relationship with Julie Bensonhurst was 'cordial' and "civilized' after your divorce, and that you would occasionally run into each other at movies and plays."

"Yes, we had similar interests," Wilson said. He had turned away from Det. Little and was looking out over the city. He kept his voice steady.

"Would you call yourself her friend?"

"Yes, I suppose. Anyway, I wished her well. I wanted her to be happy."

"Were you anything more than friends?"

"No, of course not."

Det. Little took a piece of paper from her jacket pocket. She unfolded a photocopy of the photograph that had triggered Carl Bensonhurst's violent attack on his wife and showed it to Wilson. Dawn was still some time away, although the sky had begun to lighten. It took a minute for Wilson to make out the photograph, and to register what it depicted.

"That's Julie and me in my office, yesterday afternoon. She was upset because a close friend of hers had recently died, and she missed her. How did you get this picture? We were the only two people there."

"This is a photocopy of a digital photograph someone sent Carl Bensonhurst by e-mail. He got this photo, had a couple of drinks, and then beat up and nearly killed his wife. Because of this photo, he says."

Wilson looked pale and sick.

"Were you and Mrs. Bensonhurst having an affair? Because if you were, you'd better tell me now. It's all going to come out in the investigation."

Wilson shook his head.

"We're interested in whoever took this photo and sent it to Bensonhurst. Do you know who that person is?"

Wilson shook his head again, still unable to speak.

"Someone who would want to hurt Julie or hurt you? An unhappy patient, maybe, or the husband or wife of someone who had died while you were treating them?"

"I'm an oncologist," Wilson said, after a pause to compose himself. "A certain percentage of my patients are going to die. I try to give them the best possible chance, but that's all I can do.

My patients are amazing, especially the children. A lot of the treatments are painful and unpleasant, but they don't blame me. Even when I can't help them anymore - all I can do is make the end a little more comfortable - they still don't blame me."

"What about Julie's enemies?"

"I don't know. We've been divorced a long time, and I don't know her social circle anymore. Recently, I'd been seeing more of her, because she was unhappy with Bensonhurst and she needed someone to talk to, but I really don't know a lot about her current friends and enemies. I'm sorry I can't help you."

"I'll probably be phoning you later to ask you to sign a statement. Will that be okay with you?"

"Yes, of course."

--

As soon as the detective left, Wilson sank down to the floor. He was shaking, shocked by the realization that he was responsible for Julie's condition. House had been right when he'd accused Wilson of being more interested in playing the part of the white knight than in Julie's welfare. All along, he'd never taken Julie entirely seriously; he'd thought that she was exaggerating her situation to gain his sympathy and his attention. He'd been flattered that she was still attracted to him, and he'd never considered that spending time with Julie might make her brutal husband angry and put her in danger. He'd been selfish and thoughtless.

The light of dawn had woken Emily. Wilson looked up, tears streaming down his face, and saw her watching him through the glass of the balcony door. Wilson knew that she needed a strong, confident father figure, not someone weak and emotional, but he couldn't stop crying. The glass door was heavy, and Emily really had to tug before she could open it. She sat down next to Wilson.

"It's okay," she said. "Mommy will be back soon."


	14. Chapter 14

Part Fourteen

The Journey Back Home

Lisa's evening at Andrea's house had been very uncomfortable. Andrea was outraged at House for embarrassing her employer. As Andrea had recommended House for the project, his behaviour reflected badly on her. She held Lisa responsible for House's actions, but Lisa had refused to apologize.

"According to what I heard, House was just trying to leave quietly, but Andersen decided to make a public example of him. If anyone should apologize, it should be Andersen," she said.

That was not a point of view that Andrea could appreciate.

Andrea was still angry the next morning, when she drove Lisa to the airport. Lisa shut her eyes as Andrea sped up to catch the dying seconds of a yellow light and then changed lanes abruptly to avoid a slow-moving garbage truck. Andrea's driving habits reflected her emotional state. Most of the time she was a safe and careful driver, but when she was angry, she was a menace to everyone on the road.

"There was no justification for House to insult Mr. Andersen that way," Andrea said. "I thought you were there to keep an eye on him."

"I stepped out of the room to make a phone call. I'm not sure what you think I could have done to stop House, anyway. You were there, and you couldn't stop him," Lisa said.

She was tired of talking about what she considered a very minor incident, but Andrea refused to drop the subject.

"And now that there's a mess to clean up, and you go running back to Princeton."

"That's not why I'm leaving. I'm going back because I've had some time to think, and I've decided to go home and try to make my marriage work."

Andrea spotted her turn, and whipped across two lanes of traffic to make it, forcing the driver of a school bus to slam on his brakes. In her side view mirror, Lisa caught a brief glimpse of a half-dozen middle-schoolers making obscene gestures, and then they were gone. Lisa looked at the speedometer and blanched.

"The whole incident makes me look very bad," Andrea continued. "Inviting House into the Brain Trust might be my career-ending mistake. Andersen doesn't give second chances. He's famous for showing no mercy."

"If he fired you, would that be so bad? I know he's paying you excellent money, and your job is much more prestigious than your old one, but I've never seen you so nervous and unhappy before. Maybe it's time for you to leave Andersen anyway."

"Easy for someone to say who has a fabulous job and a fully-paid-for house." Andrea said bitterly. "I can't afford to leave. After Peter and I split up, I got half of nothing. We were already mortgaged to the hilt and living on credit cards. Now he's in England with Zachary, his former p.a. You try collecting child support when your ex-husband and his twenty-two-year-old boy toy are living on another continent!"

"You didn't tell me. I had no idea."

"Well, it doesn't make me look very bright, does it? I'm the Dozy Dora who never realized my husband was gay. I'm trying not to be cynical. I'm trying to be positive for Leonie's sake, but I swear it's true, Lisa: all men are lying, cheating pigs."

"Not all men," Lisa protested.

"99.9 percent, and I'm being generous. "

Andrea pulled up in front of the terminal, and Cuddy collected her bag and laptop from the back seat and opened the car door. Andrea did not help her, and she left the motor running.

"I've got to get to work - assuming I still have a job," she said. "Good-bye."

Andrea pulled out, cutting off a rental car crammed full of Australian tourists.

"Good-bye," Lisa said. She waved half-heartedly, but she pretty sure that Andrea did not look back.

--

The buzzing of the suite's intercom woke House. His eyes opened briefly, but he shut them against the glare of sunlight bouncing off the white walls. Actually getting up and answering the intercom was a complex task that seemed beyond his abilities at the moment, but the sound of the buzzer sent painful spikes into his skull and shredded his nerves, until he had no alternative but to silence it somehow. Eyes still shut against the light, he got up slowly. Holding his cane in one hand and feeling his way along the wall with the other, he headed for the intercom. He opened his eyes just enough to make out the buttons on the intercom, and pressed the button that allowed him to speak with his caller.

"Go away," he said.

"It's the driver. I'm here to pick you up and take you to the Andersen building."

House groaned. In his misery, he'd forgotten all about the Billionaire's Brain Trust and Alan Andersen. Unfortunately, Alan Andersen hadn't forgotten him.

House pressed the button that would let the driver into the building. He thought the driver would be easier to cope with than the noise of the buzzer. When he heard a knock at his door, House opened the door but did not let his visitor in.

"You're not even dressed," the driver said.

"And I have no plans for getting dressed," House said. "Today I plan to lie in bed groaning and wishing I was dead. I also plan to take plenty of Vicodin, and to make occasional trips to the bathroom to relieve myself or throw up. My schedule might stretch to watching General Hospital in the afternoon, but frankly I think that may be too ambitious."

"You sick?"

House shook his head, and immediately wished he hadn't. "Hung-over."

"I don't think Mr. Andersen's going to like that."

"I don't like it either."

He shut the door and went back to bed.

--

The contrast between the luxury of Lisa's journey down to L.A. and the discomfort of her return flight could scarcely have been greater. As Lisa had taken the first seat available on short notice, she was in the unpopular middle seat. On one side of her was a tall fidgety man who constantly threatened to jab her with his bony knees and sharp elbows. On the other was a rumpled man in a business suit, who had three Bloody Marys one after the other, fell asleep, and snored loudly into her ear for the rest of the trip. The person in front of her had reclined her seat so far back that her head rest was in Lisa's lap, and the family with young children behind her constantly kicked and bumped her seat.

The conditions on the airplane were not conducive to either clear thought or rest, and Lisa Cuddy needed both. She found herself trudging down the same mental pathways over and over again, as if she were lost in a maze, returning each time to the photograph of James and Julie. Lisa Cuddy had never doubted her husband's fidelity before. Her instinct was to trust him, but Andrea and House, in their different ways, had urged her to look at her marriage from another perspective. She was forced to consider for the first time that her faith in James might be misplaced. Was she naive to believe in him still, despite the evidence of the photograph and his spotty sexual history?

When she had taken the trip to Los Angeles, her intention had been to sort out her own feelings. While she was dating, she had been drawn to the excitement of an instant sexual attraction. The relationships that followed had never been particularly fulfilling - had usually been downright disastrous if she were going to be totally honest - but that had not deterred her. That initial thrill was addictive and almost made up for her inevitable disappointment later.

She had never experienced that thrill of discovery with James. Their love had grown slowly out of friendship, so slowly that she had been unsure whether what she felt was love at all. She had even doubted her own motives in marrying James. She wondered whether she had married him only because he would make a good father for Emily and because he so obviously loved her. Every minor disagreement or petty annoyance had seemed a sign to her that she had made a mistake.

If the trip with House had accomplished anything, it had at least clarified her feelings for her husband. What she felt for him was utterly unlike what she had felt for House or for any other of the other men she had dated, but it was love. It was a different kind of love – a deep and steady warmth that radiated through her body and her soul – and now that she knew what she had, she didn't want to lose it.

--

Emily loved airports. They were busy and exciting. There was a lot to see and explore, but James had a firm grip on her hand. He walked past the brightly lit stores and restaurants and the interesting people without stopping or slowing down. He even ignored the motorized carts that ferried passengers and luggage to distant parts of the terminal. Emily had been on an airplane (which was exciting and scary during take-off and landing but very dull in between), but for her the real attraction of the airport was the prospect of one day riding in one of those carts. She looked up at James, to see if he'd noticed this enticing alternative to dull, ordinary walking, but he was preoccupied with his own thoughts.

--

Lisa saw Emily and James before they saw her. Her flight had arrived a bit early, and she was one of the first people off the plane, so they weren't expecting her quite yet. Emily had spotted a little boy about her own age a few seats away, and both of them were warily sizing each other up. James had marked out his territory, as people do in airports, with coat jacket, newspaper and cup of coffee, and was talking on his cellphone. With his free hand, he rubbed the back of his neck, a characteristic gesture which meant that he was stressed or upset.

At that moment, Emily spotted her mother and ran towards her, heedless of the steady stream of foot traffic. Wilson dropped the cellphone and grabbed his stepdaughter just before she collided with a woman pushing a stroller, and then looked up and saw Lisa. Lisa noticed how tired and worried he looked.

James looked at his wife uncertainly, searching for some indication of her feelings towards him. He wasn't sure whether her decision to return home early was a positive sign or not.

Emily hugged and kissed her mother, and James followed at a more sedate pace. The kiss he gave Lisa was tentative, reflecting the distance that had grown between them since their argument in the school parking lot. Lisa wanted more than a polite peck though. She put down her laptop and let go of her carry-on bag so that she could hold her husband close. James realized that Lisa had decided to give him and their marriage another chance, and Lisa felt the tension in her husband's muscles ease. He put his arms around her and kissed her again - a lover's kiss this time, serious and heartfelt and passionate.

"We've both missed you so much," he said.

"I've only been away a couple of days."

"It seemed much longer," Wilson said, and he kissed her a third time.

He picked up her laptop and wheeled her carry-on bag toward the seat where he'd left his cellphone and jacket. Emily held her mother's hand, jumping and skipping in the pure delight of having her back home again.

"Something happened while you were gone, but I can't talk to you about it in front of Emily," James said quietly. "It's about Julie."

Lisa nodded without saying anything, but the light of happiness in her eyes flickered out. She already knew what he was going to say. James was going to confess that he had had an affair with his ex-wife.


	15. Chapter 15

The Exile

".. so little Lucy hid the golden key in a little box in the very back of the cupboard, where the wicked Fox King would never find it,'" Lisa read aloud.

She looked up from the page, and noticed that Emily had fallen asleep. She put the book down and kissed her sleeping daughter lightly on the forehead. Then she got up, closed the bedroom door behind her, and headed downstairs.

When Lisa entered the living room, James was talking on his cellphone again. He looked up and smiled at her from his place on the couch, but Lisa sat in an armchair on the other side of the room. She maintained a careful expression of neutrality.

When he had finished his call, she said, "You were going to tell me something about Julie."

"Yes, James said nervously. "Julie came to see at the hospital while you were in L.A."

"I suppose she wanted to talk about her marriage problems again."

James nodded. "I was annoyed with her because she picked a fight in public with my secretary and because she thought I should drop everything and take her out to lunch. I wasn't very understanding, and I'm afraid that I thought that she was exaggerating her problems to get attention. Then she told me that one of her best friends had recently died and she had no one else to talk to."

"Which one of her friends?" asked Lisa, who was already searching her husband's story for flaws. She could confirm Julie's argument with James's secretary and she could check the obituaries for notice of her friend's death.

"Claire...I think her last is Vickers. She used to be head of a committee to raise funds for a new MRI. You remember her."

"She's not dead."

"Yes, she is, unfortunately. She died three months ago. Ovarian cancer."

"She's not dead. She moved to Connecticut," Lisa's voice was cold and angry. "Unless she's been struck by lightning in the past couple of weeks, she's perfectly fine."

"Oh," Wilson said. "Julie told me that she was dead. I guess she thought she had to make her loss of a friend more dramatic."

"So _she_ was lying, not you," Lisa said sceptically.

"Exaggerating," Wilson said. With the pitiful image of Julie in her hospital bed still vivid in his memory, he did not feel inclined to judge her harshly.

"Julie was very upset and started crying, and I gave her a tissue. She just seemed so desolate and lost. I should have realized then how bad things were in her marriage – I should have insisted that she go to a woman's shelter right that minute – but I didn't. I just let her cry on my shoulder, as if that was good enough. I think I just wanted to get rid of her so I wouldn't be late for my consult with Birnbaum."

"Someone took a photo of Julie and me in my office. Julie's crying and I have my arm around her, trying to comfort her. It's blurry and out of focus, and it makes things look ...sleazy. Like one of those candid shots in the National Enquirer. Anyway, they sent the shot to Julie's husband anonymously. He probably received it yesterday afternoon or evening."

"They sent me a copy too," Lisa said. "I printed it out."

She went to her purse and took out the photo. She looked closely at Julie's hand and saw that Julie was holding something white. That blurry white object could be a tissue. Andrea would have scoffed at such meagre supporting evidence, but Lisa was relieved.

Wilson looked at the photo over her shoulder. It was his first clear look of it, since the light had been poor when the policewoman had shown it to him. The photo was worse that he had imagined. There was something furtive and unwholesome about it, as if the photographer's malicious intentions had tainted the image he produced.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Wilson asked. "I'm sorry. It must have been awful to receive this. It's so spiteful and deliberately cruel."

They sat down again, and Wilson took a deep breath. The next bit was going to be difficult and he had to remain calm. He avoided his wife's eyes, knowing that any expression of sympathy or concern might make it impossible for him to continue his story.

"The police told me that Julie's husband was waiting for her when she came home last night. She tried to defend herself but he attacked her. It must have been brutal. She had a ruptured spleen and a skull fracture and multiple defensive injuries. She's in PPTH right now. She hasn't regained consciousness after her splenectomy. I was just talking to Ortega and he's not very optimistic about her chances. She's not getting better. He's afraid of sepsis.

She's dying, Lisa, and I'm responsible."

--

After two days with very little sleep, Wilson was exhausted. He fell asleep almost at once, but Lisa was still awake at midnight. She had not told her husband about the kisses she had shared with House. It would have been self-indulgent to relieve her own feelings of guilt at the cost of Wilson's peace of mind, especially since her husband was obviously under a great deal of stress already. Carefully, trying not to disturb him, she got out of bed, and went downstairs to call House.

House was not pleased to hear Lisa's voice. He thought that she was calling to offer him unwelcome sympathy. He even suspected that some tiny ignoble part of her might actually rejoice at the pain her rejection had caused him. House wouldn't allow Cuddy to pity him. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing that she could make him suffer.

"I talked to James about the photograph," Cuddy said.

"So was he doing the nasty with his ex?" House asked.

"No, he says he was comforting her."

House snorted, but his disbelief was partly feigned_. _ House knew that half of the hospital staff (the female half) went to talk to Wilson whenever they broke up with their boyfriends or fought with their families. A bit of manly comfort from a handsome doctor was just the thing they needed when they felt depressed or lonely. Wilson listened, was a lot cheaper than a therapist, and he didn't take advantage.

In House's opinion, Julie was a conniving gold-digger and a cheat. However, her past deceptions wouldn't disqualify her from being the beneficiary of Wilson's pathological need to help people.

"Did you tell Wilson what happened between us?" he asked.

"Not yet. I will, but right now something terrible has happened. Julie's husband saw the photo and went crazy. He beat her very badly. Julie's in the hospital right now, but she's not doing well. James feels responsible for her condition. If she dies ... I don't think he can handle any more bad news right now."

"Maybe Wilson's stronger than you think," House argued. "Maybe you're trying to protect yourself not Wilson. You don't want to have to step off your pedestal and admit to Wilson that you're human and you can be tempted."

"You actually want me to tell James?"

"No, I don't. But I'm honest about my own motives. I don't want you to tell Wilson because it would affect me. I want Wilson to be around to prescribe my Vicodin, and go bowling with me, and watch movies with me, and he won't do any of those things if he knows that I tried to steal you away from him. At least I don't say that I'm hiding what happened for Wilson's benefit. I don't claim to be altruistic."

"If you did, no one would believe you anyway," Cuddy said. Then she realized that it was a rather cruel comment to make. House had loved her for years and she had just rejected him. He was entitled to be a little disagreeable.

House was actually pleased by Cuddy's little jab. It showed a reassuring lack of pity.

"If you're afraid that Wilson is going to go off the deep end if Julie dies, why don't you just make sure that Julie doesn't die?"

"That's not under my control, House," Cuddy said. "I think if I had been appointed God, I would know it by now."

Sarcasm now. Better and better. House almost smiled. "Who's Julie's doctor?"

"Ortega."

"He's competent enough," House admitted. "Kelly White should be in charge of her nursing care. She's reasonably bright and she pays attention."

"She in the neonatal unit right now."

"Move her," House directed.

Cuddy was a little annoyed. The organization of hospital staff was her job, not House's. Unfortunately, House was right as usual. Kelly White was the best nurse on staff, and Julie's best hope for surviving her injuries.

"When are you coming back to Princeton Plainsboro?" Cuddy asked, changing the subject. "Have they kicked you off the Billionaire's Brain Trust yet? Andrea said that you were a goner after your little contretemps with her boss. She was just afraid that you'd take her with you."

"Do you know that the video of my argument with Andersen is on Youtube?" House said. "There's a poll, too: which one of us in the bigger jerk. I was winning at first, but then Andersen surged ahead. I think some of his employees are rigging the results."

"Andrea would have a hard time deciding who to vote for. She's not very fond of either of you at the moment."

"She phoned me about an hour ago. I skipped the Brain Trust today, and she warned me that tomorrow she's going to pick me up and drive me to the Anderson Headquarters personally. She told me that I don't get to duck out of my contract. Apparently their expert on military strategy is actually a middle-aged fantasist with an extensive collection of back issues of Soldier of Fortune. His only military experience is playing laser tag. He's out. Then the celebrity chef jumped ship when he was offered a show on the Food Network. Now, there's only me, Andersen and the teacher left, so they can't afford to lose me."

"I really wish you were here," Cuddy said. "James needs to talk to someone. He needs a friend."

"Do you think Wilson actually talks to me?" House asked incredulously. "About _Wilson's_ life? I talk about myself and Wilson talks about me, too. Once in a while we talk about movies or sports, or argue over which takeout place makes the best spring rolls. Wilson doesn't share secrets and giggle, like a twelve-year-old at a sleepover. We aren't _girls_."

"I need you too," Cuddy admitted.

"If you need me so much," House demanded, "why did you choose Wilson over me? "

He paused, waiting for her to explain or apologize, but there was only silence. Finally, House relented.

"If you want me back, come up with a case for me. My contract says that I can leave if there's a genuine medical emergency and you need my expertise. Find me a diagnostic mystery and bring me back from exile. I'm sick of California sunshine anyway."

--

The next morning, Cuddy met with Rosemary Lum, a fellow in House's department.

"Tell me about the cases the Department of Diagnostics is dealing with at the moment," she requested.

"There's really only one right now," Lum said. "I'm waiting for the test results to confirm it, but I'm pretty sure it's hemochromatosis."

"Does Dr. Crane agree with your diagnosis?" she asked.

"He's off sick right now," Lum said. "He came in yesterday morning, but he said he felt ill and had to leave. He didn't come in today."

"I think you need a second opinion," Cuddy said.

"I don't think so," Lum protested, angry at this slur on her professional competence. "I'm almost one hundred percent certain of my diagnosis, and the tests are going to confirm it shortly."

"Okay," Cuddy said, "let me be very candid with you, Dr. Lum. House is contractually obliged to stay in California until he finishes all the tests and questionnaires that Andersen's researchers can throw at him. The only exception is if his Department needs him to diagnose an urgent case. Then he can come back to Princeton Plainsboro. Only then."

"I understand."

"Now, I'm going to suggest that this case of possible hemochromatosis may be much more complicated than you thought originally. I'm going to suggest that you need a second opinion from a more senior member of the Department of Diagnostics."

"I've reconsidered, Dr. Cuddy. I'm almost sure my diagnosis is correct, but I agree with you that a second opinion from Dr. House is a medical necessity."

"Good. I've already had my assistant write up a document to that effect. Would you mind signing it right here? I want to fax it to L.A. as soon as possible."


	16. Chapter 16

Part Sixteen

The Detective Returns

Lisa Cuddy was waiting for her husband to join her in her office for lunch. All morning, she felt herself being watched by the hospital personnel. Some regarded her with expressions of open sympathy and others with covert curiosity. The photo of Julie and James had by now made its way across town from the Ben Hur Land Development Company and everyone from departmental heads to janitors had obviously seen it. Cuddy had been cast in the thankless role of the wronged wife, and she did not find her position any less humiliating just because she had not, in fact, been wronged. Under the circumstances, she preferred to eat in her office rather than face public scrutiny in the cafeteria.

Cuddy had only been waiting a couple of minutes (though it seemed much longer), when Wilson arrived. He was carrying a tuna salad with low-cal vinaigrette on the side for Cuddy and a bowl of chilli for himself. He kissed Cuddy, poured himself a cup of coffee from Cuddy's personal coffee maker, and sat down on the other side of her desk.

"Good news!" he said. "Julie's finally woken up. She opened her eyes and she focused on the nurse. She even tried to talk, but of course her jaw is wired because of the fracture. When I spoke to Ortega, he seemed much more optimistic about her chances for recovery."

"The police will want to question her now that she's awake," Cuddy said. "She'll need to make a statement."

"I guess so. I don't know how they are going to communicate though. She can't talk, and she can't write either. I just hope whoever they send is going to be gentle and not distress her. She doesn't need that. If they send someone like Tritter..."

"Of course, they won't!"

"Anyway, someone should be with her when the police come, just to make sure."

"I'll have a word with her nurse and ask her to be present during the interview."

Wilson smiled, "Thank you. I know this whole situation has been very embarrassing for you, and I really appreciate your support. I've been so distracted that I haven't even asked you about your trip to California. How did it go? Did House behave himself, or did you leave early because he was driving you crazy?"

"He had a minor run-in with Anderson. Apparently you can see it all on YouTube. Oh, and Andrea is furious with me for leaving early. I don't think we'll be getting a Hanukkah card from her this year."

"You've been friends for twenty years. She'll forgive you."

"Eventually," Cuddy said. "Actually, I came back early because I came to some decisions about our marriage."

Cuddy had rehearsed this conversation in her mind and knew exactly what she was going to say. Wilson looked up from his chilli, concerned.

Cuddy said, "I think I've been letting things drift, and ignoring some fairly obvious problems. For one, thing, both of us have to be happy for our marriage to work. If it's going to be all about you giving and me taking, it's not going to work over the long term. If you feel unhappy or if you feel I'm taking advantage of you, you have to tell me."

"I don't feel that way at all. If anything, I just wish you'd let me help you more."

"Another thing I'd like to talk about," said Cuddy, ignoring the interruption," is Emily."

Wilson looked intensely uncomfortable. He didn't want to lie to his wife, but if Cuddy asked him whether he still believed that House was Emily's father, the prospect of telling the truth wasn't particularly inviting.

Cuddy wasn't interested in talking about Emily's biological father, however. She had a different topic in mind.

"I think I haven't been entirely fair to either of you. When you kept referring to Emily as "Lisa's daughter", I got angry at you, but you were just being accurate. I've been selfish keeping Emily all to myself. Emily needs a father and you need a daughter. I think you should consider adopting her."

"Really? Are you sure? What does Emily think?"

"I know she'll be overjoyed. We'll talk to her together, both of us, but don't worry, she'll be thrilled. She asked me last night, when I was tucking her in, whether you'd mind if she called you 'daddy' instead of James. I told her I thought you'd be very pleased."

"You're sure about this?" James asked again. He sounded very happy, but also cautious, as if Cuddy had offered him something very precious, but might regret her offer and snatch it away again.

"Very sure," Cuddy said. "If something were ever to happen to me, I'd want Emily to be with you. It would be good to know that she would be with someone she's known and loved all her life."

Wilson still had concerns about House's role in Emily's life. House was Emily's biological father- he was sure of it - and stepping into House's rightful place in Emily's life wasn't entirely fair to his best friend. However, if this was what Emily and Cuddy wanted, (and it was certainly what Wilson wanted as well) then he wouldn't put House's interests over those of his own wife and soon-to-be daughter.

"Finally, I want to talk about you and your ex-wives. I don't mind when Michelle flirts with you, because she only does it when Peter's there, and she just does it to make him jealous."

"I wish she wouldn't," Wilson complained, "She makes me very uncomfortable. I don't particularly want to be a part of their kinky love life."

"Well, the foundation that she and her husband run is one of the hospital's biggest benefactors at the moment, so I'm afraid you're just going to have to grin and bear it for now."

"Maybe you should introduce them to Dr. Fisk in Paediatrics. All the nurses say he looks just like George Clooney. You could tell her that Peter would be much more jealous of him than of me."

Cuddy looked mildly annoyed, since they were straying from her planned agenda.

"Getting back to the subject, I know you and Bonnie aren't romantically involved so I'm not worried about her in that way. I just think you're letting her depend on you too much. I think there should be a bit more distance between you."

"I owe Bonnie," Wilson said, "so if she asks me for a favour, I can't always refuse."

"Saying no once in a while wouldn't hurt, "Cuddy said under her breath.

She ate a forkful of salad and continued, "Julie's a different story though. She was obviously very unhappy in her marriage to a deeply disturbed man, so I'm trying to be tolerant and forgiving, but it's not easy. I'm convinced she was trying to steal you away from me. I think that maybe you were flattered by the attention and you didn't do as much as you could have to discourage her. Even though you weren't sleeping with her, you weren't exactly being faithful to me either. I want you to promise me that you will never see her again."

Wilson shook his head. "I can't," he said. "I've already promised Julie that I'm going to help her get her old life back, and I can't go back on my word."

--

Cuddy looked at Julie through the glass wall of her hospital room. Her rival looked insignificant and pitiable without her beautiful red hair and her expensive clothes, but she still represented a continuing threat to Cuddy's marriage and her family's happiness.

Julie was sleeping, and a woman casually dressed in turtleneck and jeans sat at her bedside. The woman's coat was slung on the back of her chair. She looked up at Cuddy, and then rose from her chair, picked up her coat, and went across the room towards her. She opened the door, and put out her hand for Cuddy to shake.

"I'm Detective Karen Little, " the woman said. "I came to talk to Mrs. Bensonhurst, but the nurse was very insistent that she needs her sleep. She refuses to let me wake her."

"Nurse White has Mrs. Bensonhurst's well-being very much in mind," Cuddy said. "I'm not going to overrule her. You're going to have to wait until she wakes up again naturally."

"Fine," the detective said. "In the meantime, can I talk to you? You're Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," Cuddy said, turning away from the window and heading back to her office. The detective walked with her. "And as you probably know, I was in California at the time that Julie was assaulted. I don't know anything about it."

"I just need some background information. It should only take a few minutes. We can talk in your office, if you're concerned about privacy."

"All right," Cuddy conceded, "but my schedule today is full and I don't have much time to spare."

They made the journey to Cuddy's office in silence.

"I met your daughter when I was questioning your husband. She's a real cute kid. She takes after you," the detective took a seat on the other side of Cuddy's desk.

"Really," said Cuddy. "My husband didn't mention that he had been questioned by the police."

"Questioned is probably the wrong word. We talked. He was obviously very upset by Mrs. Bensonhurst's condition. The two of them must have been very close."

"She's his ex-wife."

"Yes," the detective said, "but if someone told me that my ex had been badly injured, I wouldn't rush to the hospital and cry over his bed. I'd probably hold a parade."

She took a small notebook and pen from her coat pocket.

"So while your husband was "comforting" his ex-wife on the office couch, you were in California. What were you doing there?"

"I was with a colleague. He's involved in a research project with the Andersen Media Group. My colleague, Dr. House, can be a bit difficult, so I was acting as an intermediary."

"Would you give me the name and address of the hotel where you were staying?"

"Andersen actually put us up in an apartment while we were staying there. We were sharing a corporate suite a short distance from their headquarters. I don't have the address for you right now, but I can get it for you."

"Okay, I'm beginning to get the picture here," the detective said. "If you and your husband have some sort of open marriage, or discreet arrangement or whatever you want to call it, and if that works for you, who am I to judge? Chaçun à son gout, as we used to say in my high school French class."

"I resent your insinuation," Cuddy said. "I am not having an affair with Dr. House; we are merely colleagues. My husband was not having an affair with Julie Bensonhurst; he was just trying to help her through a bad patch in her life. Even if he were having an affair with her, which he was not, that would not in any way justify what Carl Bensonhurst did. This whole line of questioning appears to be totally irrelevant to me."

"Why is it irrelevant?"

"Because the only question you should be investigating is whether or not Carl Bensonhurst battered his wife nearly to death - not whether or not she deserved it because she had an affair. And from what I understand, you already have a confession."

"I never said Mrs. Bensonhurst deserved what happened to her," the detective said. "That's your insinuation there, but I'm going to ignore it because you're under a lot of stress. As for Bensonhurst, yes, he confessed, but he's trying to repudiate his confession. His lawyer is saying that Bensonhurst was so drunk that he would say anything he was told to say and that the police coerced him into waiving his right to an attorney when he was too drunk to appreciate the consequences. He's also arguing that since Mrs. Bensonhurst's injuries aren't consistent with her husband's confession, the confession should be thrown out."

"You don't think he's going to get away with it, do you?"

"I hope not. I sincerely hope he stays in prison until he rots.

You're right when you say whether or not Mrs. Bensonhurst was having an affair isn't strictly relevant. But the jury is going to wonder anyway. Your husband can deny that he had an affair with her; maybe he's even telling the truth. He's a very good liar, your husband - I can tell - though that doesn't necessarily mean that he's lying right now. My point is: doubt spreads. You introduce an element of uncertainty and it taints the whole case. The jury thinks, 'I don't believe what the prosecutor is telling me here, why should I believe anything he says?' I'm just saying that the whole scenario will make a whole lot more sense to the jury if Mrs. Bensonhurst was actually having an affair. If Bensonhurst just thought she was having an affair, but she wasn't, it complicates things. Juries like uncomplicated cases."

"But when Julie testifies against him that should be enough to resolve any lingering doubts."

"If she testifies," Karen Little said. "I've heard a rumour that Bensonhurst's lawyer is going to offer her two point five million dollars and an uncontested divorce if she refuses to testify. I really want to talk to Mrs. Bensonhurst before she hears about the offer.

I don't think Julie Bensonhurst is the first woman he's hurt. His first wife suddenly disappeared about fifteen years ago. He claims she left him, but nobody's seen her since then."

"You think he killed her," Cuddy said.

"It's a possibility. We know that he was drinking heavily at the time and using drugs, but shortly after she disappeared, he sobered up and started taking anger management classes.

Dr. Cuddy, you can see this case is very serious. I believe that Bensonhurst is a danger to the community. If your husband was having an affair with Mrs. Bensonhurst, convince him to tell me the truth. I think saving another woman's life is more important than anyone's reputation."


	17. Chapter 17

Part Seventeen

A Parting of the Ways

House was an expert at securing upgrades on airplanes. He explained that his disability and his height made a regular seat very uncomfortable for him; he argued and grumbled and complained, until the airline employee decided that upgrading his ticket was less time-consuming and bothersome than trying to reason with him. All his techniques didn't help him this trip though, because his travelling companion had used her own initiative to get both of their tickets from the automated ticket dispenser. She actually smiled as she held up the tickets and offered House the aisle seat, as if she had done him a favour.

House's companion was the baby-faced researcher from Andersen Media Group. Andersen had reluctantly agreed to allow House to return to work but only if she went along to observe and make notes.

"Since we'll be sitting next to each other on the plane," she said, "I thought we could use the time to do some more testing."

"No," House said, "I plan on having a couple of scotches and going into a deeply contemplative, almost vegetative, state. I'm very Zen that way."

"Okay, then we'll have arrange another time for you to do this round of testing," she said.

"No, we won't. Your tests are totally irrelevant," House said. "None of them are designed to measure innovative thinking or heuristic cognitive patterning or whatever buzzword you're calling it this week. So far you've given me a standard IQ test, a Myers-Briggs personality test and the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory. You might as well work up my horoscope or read the bumps on my head. They'd be just as informative."

"All of the tests we are using are well accepted by the scientific community," she said primly. "They are useful tools."

"A screwdriver is a useful tool but I wouldn't use it to hammer in a nail," House said. "I'm going to go about my regular day, and every time I say or do something brilliant and incisive and innovative, I'll ring a little bell to let you know, and you can write it down. I think that will work better, if you can stand the constant ringing in your ears."

--

Rosemary Lum had come to the airport to pick up House. He was disappointed; he had hoped that Lisa Cuddy would be there, and that he would have the hour-long trip from the airport to his apartment to talk to her alone. While House went to meet Lum, the researcher rushed off to the baggage claims area to retrieve their luggage.

"So what is this emergency case?" he asked.

"There isn't one actually," Lum admitted. "We had a case of hemochromatosis, but it was a pretty straightforward diagnosis. Dr. Cuddy's heard about a puzzling case over at Princeton General, and she's trying to get the patient transferred to PPTH."

"As a make-work project," House complained.

"It's quite an intriguing case, actually," Lum said. "None of the patient's symptoms seem to be related to each other in any sort of rational pattern, and the test results have been inconclusive. She seems to be failing and no one can understand why."

House nodded; this sounded like just the kind of challenge he liked.

"I'll want you and Crane to rerun all the tests. The lab techs at PPTH are bad enough; who knows what idiots they hire at Princeton General?"

"Crane's off sick," said Lum, "but I'll run the tests again."

"I think I should check up on Crane," House said. "We can stop by at his place for a few minutes on the way home. We won't be long."

"He just has the flu. Nothing interesting."

House's concern for Crane's welfare seemed uncharacteristic of him to Lum. House had never dropped in to see her when she was ill. She wondered why Crane merited such personal attention.

The researcher returned, pulling a baggage cart. She smiled at Lum and held out her hand.

"Hello," she said. "I'm Cynthia Brown. I'm part of the research team investigating Dr. House's methods. "

"Rosemary Lum."

"Yes, Dr. House mentioned you. He said you were the star of Bubblegum High School. I have to confess that I've never seen that particular program, but Dr. House spoke very highly of it."

Rosemary frowned. Her brief career as a teenaged actress had helped pay for medical school, but she didn't like being reminded of it. She thought it made other people take her less seriously.

"I still remember the very special episode where Mei Ling admitted that she was bulimic. You nearly made me cry," House said.

He hadn't forgotten Lum's insult, when his late night phone call had woken her, and teasing her about her 'stardom' was his way of paying her back.

"I'm sure it must have been very exciting," Cynthia Brown said politely. "Shall we go? I'm staying at the Marriot. Could you drop me off there?"

--

After Lum had dropped Cynthia at her hotel, she drove House to Crane's apartment building. House rang the doorbell outside of Crane's apartment building. When Crane did not answer, he buzzed each individual apartment, calling out "pizza delivery" until someone let them in. They went to Crane's apartment and House pounded on the door.

"I'm not going away, Crane," he called out. "I'm going to talk to you about Julie Bensonhurst even if I have to yell at you through a closed door. I don't care if your neighbours hear."

Lum looked at House, surprised by his words.

"Just be quiet and listen," House said quietly. "I need a witness."

Finally, Tony Crane opened the door. He looked pale and there were deep circles under his eyes. He looked as if he did actually have the flu, but House knew better. Crane was worried, not sick. House stepped into Crane's apartment, and Lum followed.

"I want you to resign," House said. "I don't want you working at my hospital anymore."

"I'm not going to resign," Crane protested. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"I know you sent the photos to Cuddy and Bensonhurst."

"So what if I did? Didn't they have a right to know that their spouses were cheating on them?"

"So you acted out of moral outrage? Public-spirited concern for the sanctity of marriage?"

"What they were doing _was_ immoral," Crane said, oblivious to House's heavy sarcasm. "I just didn't think that they should get away with it. I'm sorry about what happened after, but that wasn't my fault. I had no way of knowing the way that Bensonhurst would react. I didn't mean for that woman to get hurt, but it wouldn't have happened if she hadn't been cheating on him."

"I believe you when you say you didn't mean for Julie to get hurt. You wanted to hurt Wilson, didn't you? He was your real target."

"It's not fair, " Crane complained. "I'm brilliant and I work hard, but nobody gives me any credit. Nobody likes me. You should like me because we're the same: we both say exactly what we think and don't care about anybody else. I don't understand why you like Wilson more than me. I'm so much better than he is."

"You're wrong. Wilson is a good person, but you're malicious and spiteful and pathetic. You aren't suited to be a doctor, and you don't belong in my department. I want to see your resignation first thing tomorrow morning. Send it by courier. I don't want you setting foot on hospital grounds."

"I won't resign, and you don't have grounds for firing me. I took a couple of photos over my lunch hour. So what?"

"You took them from the balcony outside Wilson's office. I figure that you went through my office to get there. My locked office. I'm pretty sure that 'breaking and entering' is grounds for dismissal.

I'm calling the police, whether you resign or not. Do you want me to call television stations and newspapers too? I've already thought of a really enticing angle for them. How do you like 'Peeping Tom Doctor'? I'll spare you that if I get your resignation before ten tomorrow. "

--

Rosemary Lum dropped House and his baggage on the doorstep of his apartment building and drove home. Wearily, House made his way to his apartment. Wilson was waiting for him in the hallway.

"I want to talk to you," Wilson said. He didn't bother to greet his best friend or ask about his trip. His voice was cold and without inflection, and he wouldn't look at House. Very bad signs.

House stepped past him to unlock his door. "What about?" he asked.

He opened the door wide and Wilson followed him in.

"About my wife and about my daughter," Wilson said, "and about whether you belong in my life anymore."

"What did Cuddy tell you?" House asked.

"She told what happened in California. How you tried to seduce her. We used to be friends, House. You betrayed me."

"I didn't intend to hurt you," House said, "but I had to tell Lisa how I feel. I love her. I've loved her for years."

"You had every chance in the world with Lisa before we got together. If you really loved her, why didn't you say something while you were both single?"

"Maybe I was afraid she'd reject me," House said. "I wanted to tell Lisa, but it was never the right time."

"But now is the right time," Wilson said. "Now that she has a husband who loves her, and a family that depends on her. Did you even care what you were doing to Emily? Did you think for even a second about your own daughter's happiness?"

"Of course, I thought about her."

House didn't bother to deny his paternity. Wilson already knew, and a DNA test could confirm it.

"You walked away from her when she was born. You put her down and walked out of her life," Wilson said. "I didn't understand it then, and I don't understand it now. I could never walk away from Emily, and I'm not even her real father."

"I walked away because I love her," House said. "I'm not the father type, and I know it. I'd screw her up."

"If you cared about Emily, if you cared about Lisa, if you cared about me..."

"I care about all of you."

"I don't think it matters anyway," Wilson said. "I tried to let you in, so you could be part of my life, and Lisa's life, and Emily's life. I worried that I was being unkind to you, because I was being a father to your daughter. Even though you turned your back on her, I always hoped you'd change your mind. I wanted Emily to know you and love you.

I think I could forgive you for trying to take Lisa away from me. I knew when I married Lisa that you still had feelings for her. I can't blame you for loving her, because I love her too.

Emily, though. I can't forgive that. She's so small and so vulnerable. If you'd broken us up, what would have happened to Emily?"

"Nothing would have happened to Emily," House said. "Half of Emily's playmates are children of divorce. You don't think they're all going to lead tragic lives as a result, do you? Children are tough."

"I see a lot of children in my practice," Wilson said. "They don't seem so tough to me. They feel pain just as much as the adults."

"She would have gotten over it," House said.

"The way that you got over what your father did to you?" Wilson asked. "I don't think I can trust you around my family, House. I don't think we can be friends."

Wilson wasn't angry any more. For the first time, he looked directly at House, his eyes reflecting his pain and sorrow. House's friendship had always been very important to Wilson, and banishing his best friend from his life hurt Wilson just as much as it hurt House. Wilson didn't see any alternative though; he had to protect his family.

"Good bye," he said.


	18. Chapter 18

Part Eighteen

Mothers and Fathers

When she first regained consciousness, the nurse had told Julie that she was lucky to be alive, and for a brief time, Julie actually felt lucky. She was still breathing and she was away from Carl, and that was enough.

Julie dozed through most of the day. Around three o'clock in the afternoon though, her painkillers had begun to wear off a bit. She wasn't in pain yet, but she could feel the pain lurking, waiting for its moment. It was then that she had a visit from a man in a suit. He told Julie that Carl had cancelled her medical coverage. She was uninsured and the hospital wanted to know how she intended to settle her bill. He would give her a day to arrange some other method of payment. Julie nodded her head slightly, since she could not speak. She knew that she had no means of paying the hospital, and was sinking deeper and deeper into debt every moment, but she pretended to be unconcerned.

The next morning, Julie's surgeon came by to talk to her. He told her that her recovery from the splenectomy would be slow, and that even after her broken bones had healed, her ordeal would not be over. She would need reconstructive surgery on her face, probably a series of surgeries. The surgeon was not an expert, but offered to arrange a consultation with a specialist in cosmetic surgery. He warned her that even after surgery, she could not expect to look exactly the same as she had done before Carl's attack. Julie again seemed to take the news calmly.

Julie had found herself with the communicative abilities of a newborn baby, but with the complex needs of an adult. She wanted to see what she looked like, but when had tried to articulate the word "mirror" through a jaw wired shut and broken teeth, she could only manage a couple of indistinct grunts. Even pantomime was beyond her abilities, and she felt like crying from sheer frustration. Fortunately, after a couple of wrong guesses, her nurse figured out what Julie wanted. She seemed reluctant, but Julie was insistent. The nurse held up a hand mirror, and Julie looked at her bruised and battered face, and tried to imagine what she would look like once the swelling went down. Her nose would be crooked, and her cheekbones were uneven. One of eyelids drooped, she had lost several teeth, and there was going to be an ugly scar on her chin. She knew that she would not be able to afford reconstructive surgery herself, and trying to force Carl to pay would be a long and arduous process. Carl would resist with ever trick his well-paid legal team had at their command. In the meantime, she would be disfigured. No one could ever love the woman she saw in the mirror. She saw the face of someone who lived in the margins of society, barely tolerated by those more fortunate.

Since that despairing realization, Julie had retreated inside herself. She existed in a perpetual twilight, neither awake nor asleep. When she slept, she was beset by violent and disturbing nightmares. When she was awake, she was overwhelmed by feelings of hopelessness and physical pain. The halfway point between the two was her only place of refuge. She drifted a bare inch beneath the surface of reality. Sound and sensation were muffled, as if she were floating underwater, and nothing came close enough to hurt her.

Sometimes James sat by her bedside, his voice gentle and his touch soft and delicate, trying to entice her back into the real world. James promised over and over again that he would help her regain her old life, but Julie knew that her old life was irretrievable – gone forever the moment her head hit that cold marble floor. There was nothing he or anyone else could do to bring it back.

At other times, the voice calling her back was female - dispassionate, professional and commanding. This voice spoke of justice, duty, and revenge. It urged her to testify against Carl, so that he could be punished for his crime. Julie found this voice easy to resist. Even if her husband could be brought to justice, what good would his punishment do her? She would still be disfigured, alone and poor.

After Julie had been in this state for the better part of a week, her mother came to visit.

A police officer had called on Mona Haskins, Julie's mother, to tell her of her daughter's injuries days earlier, and Mona had taken the news stoically. She'd lost touch with Julie years earlier and seldom thought about her any more. She hadn't seen the point of rushing to Julie's bedside, especially since it would involve the expense of a plane trip and a hotel room. Julie would have to get better, or not, without Mona's help.

Then a man had come to her door, smelling of money and power, and convinced Mona to make the journey.

"Julie, dear," she said, bending over her daughter, who seemed to be asleep. She clutched Julie's hand. To an observer, it seemed the gentle touch of a caring mother, but Mona was squeezing Julie's hand very hard, trying to make her wake up. When Julie didn't respond, Mona began bending one of her fingers backward. Finally Julie opened her eyes. Mona smiled.

"Good," she said. "With you doped up so much on painkillers, I was afraid I was going to have to break a finger before you'd pay attention to me. Don't bother glaring at me. You know I've never cared what you think of me."

She dropped her daughters hand and leaned in close.

"You're pretending to be sicker than you are. You always were a little actress. How long do you think you have before the hospital staff clue in that you're malingering and toss you out on the street?

You've got nothing and you are nothing. I predicted this the day you left home, didn't I? Can't say I didn't warn you."

She smiled and touched her daughter's bruised face. To an observer, it would have looked like a caress, but Julie saw the satisfaction in her mother's eyes. She tried to bat her mother's hand away, but Julie was still too weak. Mona looked up, making sure that no one had noticed Julie's agitation.

"Calm down. I haven't travelled halfway across the country just to delight in your downfall," Mona said.** "**I've got an interesting proposition for you. Your husband's lawyer came to see me and asked me to present you with his proposal. The lawyer tried talk to you himself, but your over-protective barracuda of a nurse wouldn't let him anywhere near you.

Carl will give you two and a half million dollars and a nice clean divorce if you agree not to testify against him. Personally, I think he's probably low-balling you there. I figure your husband really, really doesn't want to go prison, and he'd be willing to go up to five. With a good-sized sum of money like that, you could get your face fixed and you could start all over again. What do you think, Cookie? Doesn't that sound like a good deal?"

Mona waited for a response.

"You don't have to agree to anything yet. Just let me know if you might be interested in negotiating. Just blink to let me know you'll think about it. You've got nothing to lose."

Her daughter considered. Finally, after a long pause, Julie blinked once. Tears spilled from her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Mona stood up and prepared to go; then abruptly leaned over and kissed Julie on her forehead.

"I'm sorry you're hurting, Cookie. I really am. But five million dollars will make you feel a lot better."

--

From his glass-walled office, House watched Wilson, Cuddy and Emily as they headed toward the elevator. The three of them made the very picture of a happy and united family, he had to admit. Wilson turned around, sensing that someone was watching him. He caught House's gaze for a fraction of a second and then turned back to speak to Cuddy. Apparently, he was able to dismiss House from his thoughts as easily as he had dismissed him from his life.

"Is it true that Wilson is adopting Cuddy's daughter?" House asked Rosemary Lum, who was going over the test results of their latest patient.

"Yes," she said. Now that House and Wilson barely spoke, she had pushed into the uncomfortable position of being House's spy in all matters concerning his former best friend. "They've already filed the papers."

"Wilson's taken Cuddy from me, and now he's taken our daughter too."

Lum looked up from the test results, surprised by the revelation.

"Emily is my daughter," House said. "Cuddy doesn't know."

"How is that even possible?"

"I was a donor at the sperm bank she used. I wrote up the little blurb in their online catalogue with Cuddy in mind. I knew what she wanted, and I wrote it to her specifications. It worked. She picked me. My sample was quite popular actually. Emily has a half a dozen little half siblings scattered across the country.

"Why would you do that?"

"It was a joke. To prove to Cuddy that I was her ideal man. I was insulted because she had considered Wilson as a potential father, but she never considered me."

"You should have told her that you were the donor."

"I was planning to tell her. I thought she'd tell me which sperm sample she had chosen. We were pretty close then, because I was the only person in the hospital who knew what she was planning. Unfortunately, things didn't go exactly as I intended. She chose my sample, but she didn't tell me which one she'd picked until after she'd gone through with the insemination. She was already pregnant. I couldn't tell her at that point; I was afraid of how she would react. Women's hormones, you know. You get irrational during pregnancy."

Lum resented House's insult to her sex. She was also deeply uncomfortable with her new role as House's confidant and recipient of all his secrets. Since Wilson had resigned from that particular position, Lum had been forced into it against her will. She wanted a strictly professional relationship with her boss - one without emotional complications - but was finding that difficult to achieve with House.

"I wish you hadn't told me. You've put me in a really awkward position."

House shrugged. "I had to tell someone. Wilson isn't talking to me. I could confess to a priest or a therapist, but I'm not Catholic and I'm not crazy."

"Now I have to decide whether to tell Dr. Cuddy myself."

"It's an ethical quandary," House agreed calmly.

Lum felt like hitting him.


	19. Chapter 19

Part Nineteen

Three Months Later

Lisa woke up in a fuzzy haze of happiness. Her bed was soft and comfortable, her husband's warm familiar body was next to hers, and today was a very special day. She couldn't quite recall why this day was so special, but she knew that it was. She leaned over James to see if she was awake yet. His eyes were shut and he looked oddly carefree and innocent, like a blameless angel tumbled to earth. She couldn't resist kissing him, a delicate brush against his whiskery cheek. He mumbled something indistinguishable in his sleep. She looked at the alarm clock. There had forty-five minutes before they had to get up, plenty of time for what she had in mind. She kissed him more earnestly this time, first on the nape of his neck and then just below the ear. She knew how much he liked that. James reacted: his eyelids fluttered, and he reached out for her. But he was still asleep.

Lisa had remembered why this day was so special.

"Wake up," she said softly. "Today's the day you become a father."

--

Detective Karen Little was already waiting for Wilson when he arrived at the hospital. This was the second time that month that she had come to see Wilson, and he had to admire her persistence. He opened the door to his office and allowed her to precede him.

"I assume this is about Julie again," he said, as he shut the door. "I don't have anything to add to what I told you the last time I spoke. I have no more idea than you do where Julie is right now."

He sat at his desk, and the detective took a seat opposite him.

"You arranged her transfer out of Princeton Plainsboro."

"Julie wanted to be transferred to a private hospital in Connecticut, and once her condition was stable, the hospital followed her wishes. Where she went after that, I have no idea. Youll have to ask the Connecticut hospital."

"I did. She paid her bill in full and left without leaving an address. I find that highly suspicious. Julie Bensonhurst had no health insurance and no job. Her only liquid asset was a joint bank account with her husband, and that had been frozen by the courts. Where did she find the money to pay of the private hospital? Did Bensonhurst pay her off for agreeing not to testify against him?"

"I can't answer your questions, Det. Little," Wilson said.

"Can't or won't? You do understand that you face conspiracy charges if you were involved in any way."

Wilson sighed, declining to answer. Det. Little stood up. She put both of her hands on Wilson's desk and leaned forward. She was not a particularly tall woman, but she seemed to loom over him. Wilson tried not to appear intimidated, but he wasn't comfortable around police officers, and Det. Little could probably tell.

"We think Bensonhurst killed his first wife. Hid her body under the foundation of one of his projects, or dumped her in the woods. She had parents, brothers and sisters, a daughter. Don't you think that she deserves justice? Doesn't her family deserve to know what happened to her?"

"I find your commitment to justice very admirable, Det. Little," Wilson said, "but my own values are a bit less abstract. The first Mrs. Bensonhurst, whether she's alive or dead, I've never met her and there's nothing I can do to help her. Julie's alive and she needed me. In my profession, I have to focus on the patients I can still help, not the ones I've lost. Otherwise, I wouldn't be able to do my job."

"Julie isn't your patient."

"No, she isn't, but she is someone who needed my help."

"If you get off on helping people so much, consider helping Bensonhursts future wife or girlfriend. If he's released, the next woman he injures or kills will be your responsibility."

"I want Carl Bensonhurst convicted every bit as much as you do, Det. Little," Wilson said. "He could still be convicted without Julie's testimony. There has to be forensic evidence, and I saw on the news that the judge ruled that his confession to the police is admissible. That's got to be good news for your case."

"Did you also hear that he's hired the best legal team in the state? They can convince a jury that black is white and up is down. He's going to get away with it," she said pessimistically.

She looked into Wilson's eyes, and he could see the defeat in her gaze. It was a direct plea that he found difficult to resist.

"I wish I could help you. When I say I don't know where Julie is, I'm being absolutely honest. I really don't know. If I did, I still probably wouldn't tell you. Julie didn't trust the police to keep her safe, and I can't blame her for that."

"I would love to have you up on charges for perverting the course of justice," Det. Little said.

"I understand," he said. "If you don't mind, I have a pretty packed schedule this morning, and I'm running late. If there's nothing else..."

He put out his hand, and after a moment's hesitation, Det. Little shook it.

"Today's a very exciting day for me, actually," Wilson said. "I'm adopting my wife's little girl. We're having a little celebration in the cafeteria after I've signed the papers. If you're in the area at around four, come by and have a piece of cake."

"I don't feel much like partying," said Det. Little.

She slammed the door on the way out of the office.

--

After she left, Wilson went to his computer. He had received an e-mail from Julie, which had been sent to him by a circuitous route, through various anonymous routers scattered around the globe. There was no written message, only an attached photo of Julie. Wilson had deleted the e-mail but hed kept the photo attachment It was an extreme close-up of Julie and showed as little as possible of her surroundings. Wilson had no idea where she was, but it was possible that trained investigators might find it more informative. With Det. Little showing such interest in him, he couldnt take a chance that she might find it. He took a good look at Julie's photo, imprinting it into his memory, and then deleted it.

The photograph told him all he needed to know. In the photo, Julie was sitting in a cheap white plastic chair in bright sunlight. A large floppy hat kept the sun out of eyes and offered some slight concealment of her disfigurement. She stared straight into the camera. She looked grimly determined, rather than happy or content, but Wilson wasnt bothered by that. (He'd never known Julie to be content.) What mattered to Wilson was that she did not look afraid.

--

House was in his office, leafing through an expensive and glossy magazine. It was called Business Leaders Today, and it was essentially a fan magazine for M.B.A.'s. With the same breathless and uncritical enthusiasm with which its counterparts wrote about the Jonas Brothers or the cast of High School Musical, it profiled the business elite. House was reading an article on Alan Andersen.

Andersen's ill-conceived research project had collapsed. The results were inconclusive and contradictory and none of his research team were willing to commit professional suicide by attaching their names to the resultant report. He'd fired the lot of them, and found a group of more tractable academics, those clinging on by sheer willpower to their positions in third-rate colleges or recent immigrants from failed economies. He'd told them what to write, they'd signed it, and he had submitted it to a prestigious research publication. The envelope he'd sent it in had come back unopened with an unpleasant rejection letter. The legitimate academic community was boycotting Andersen.

Andersen was a stubborn man, and not willing to admit defeat. The business press still loved him. This time he hired a professional writer to profile him and offered the resultant puff piece free of charge to Business Leaders Today. "The Art and Science of Creating Value: the Intriguing Mind of a Billionaire" hailed Andersen as a modern Renaissance man. There was only passing reference to the other participants in the project, who were never mentioned by name. House tossed the magazine into his trash can, next to a postcard showing the Honolulu hotel where Rosemary Lum had gone on her honeymoon.

--

Emily had been excited all morning. She finally going to have a father, as her friends did, and she was certain that her father was the best of them all. Certainly he was better than Katy's father, who smelled of cigarette smoke, or Caleb's, who was always blowing his nose.

Marta told Emily that an adoption was nothing like a wedding. There wouldn't be flowers or music, just grownups talking and signing papers. This didn't seem fair to the little girl – an adoption was just as important as a wedding, and it warranted spectacle, ceremony and celebration. Emily had been born with an innate sense of occasion. She insisted on wearing her flower girl dress.

"You should get dressed up too," Emily said, looking critically at Marta's practical but not particularly stylish outfit of jeans and sweater. "You could wear one of Mummy's dresses."

"What I'm wearing is perfectly fine, Emily, and besides your mother's clothes wouldn't fit me."

"Don't you want to be fancy?" she asked. "Watch this." She spun around rapidly and the skirt of her dress ballooned and twirled around her like a ballerina's tutu. "If you wore a dress, you could do this too." She performed another pirouette, making herself so dizzy that she had to sit on the floor.

--

There was a tiny pessimistic kernel in James Wilson that told him that what he wanted most dearly would always be denied him. He had worried that House might oppose Emily's adoption. (He'd actually phoned his brother, a New York probate lawyer, about what his legal position would be if Emily's biological father asserted his rights. Mike's flippant reply - "then you're screwed" - hadn't been particularly reassuring.) Wilson worried that the judge might look at his marital history and decide that he was too erratic to be trusted with a child. He even worried that he might get struck by a lightning bolt or hit by a speeding taxi on the way to the Courthouse, an ironic Deity choosing to snatch him up just before his dearest wish could be fulfilled.

In the event though, the adoption went smoothly. The judge had glanced through a glowing letter of recommendation from one of the hospital's social workers, looked at the united family in front of him, and granted the adoption. Wilson, who had been unconsciously holding his breath, sighed in relief, and Emily joyfully jumped up and hugged him.

--

The hospital cafeteria had been chosen as a party venue for convenience rather than atmosphere, but the hospital staff had tried to make it festive with streamers and a blown-up photograph of the happy family (taken at James and Lisa's wedding). A portable stereo and a stack of old cds provided the entertainment. There was a sheet cake with pink and yellow roses, assorted snacks, and a punch made from grape juice, Seven Up, and lemonade. Lisa and James had told everyone that this would be a family-friendly affair so many of the staff had brought along their children or their grand children. The afternoon was sunny and warm, and the children played on the patio and the hospital lawn, and nobody tried to enforce the "keep off the grass" signs.

Of course, a whole busload of Cuddy's relatives attended, and Wilson's side was greatly outnumbered. Only Wilson's brother Mike, his wife Melissa, and their daughter Leah came to the party, arriving just as Wilson and Emily were cutting the cake. Wilson was very pleased. He hadn't expected his brother to attend, because Mike rarely took an afternoon off from work and he had come all the way from Albany.

"We're cousins now." Leah told Emily, "and my father's your uncle and my mother's your aunt."

Emily was impressed. She hadn't realized that all these other extra relatives came with her new father.

"I'm going to give you a corner piece with lots of icing 'cause you're my cousin," Emily said.

She impulsively picked off one of the hard sugar roses and added that as well. Her Cuddy cousins protested this obvious favouritism and had to be placated with jelly beans and punch.

--

By the time House dropped by the cafeteria at about seven, the party had become a smaller and more relaxed affair. The cafeteria was in semi-darkness, and the stereo was playing Chris de Burgh's Lady in Red. He spotted Cuddy and Wilson. They were holding each other and swaying to the music, almost dancing. As House watched, Wilson whispered something in Cuddy's ear. She laughed and pulled him closer, and then they kissed.

House left without saying a word to anyone.


	20. Chapter 20

Part Twenty

Forgiveness

Wilson was reviewing the lab results for one of his patients when House entered his office without knocking.

"We have to talk," House said, sitting down on Wilson's couch.

"Oncology consult?" Wilson asked. As professional colleagues, he could not avoid House totally. On those occasions where he had to interact with him, Wilson had adopted a brisk, impersonal manner that House found extremely irritating.

"No, a real talk."

"I don't think we have anything to talk about," Wilson said. "If you don't have anything medical to discuss with me, I have work to do."

Wilson looked down at the results he'd already read, waiting for House to leave. He didn't. It wasn't going to be that easy.

"What do I have to do to get you to forgive me? Just tell me. You want me to keep my hands off Cuddy. Fine, I understand. You and Cuddy are going to be together forever. Happily ever after. Die together, holding hands, at age 102. I get it."

"I've already forgiven you, House. I'm not angry with you or hurt or disappointed."

"Is it about Emily?"

"Please leave, House."

"You still think I'm her biological father."

"Well you are, aren't you?"

"You're afraid I'm going to waltz in and steal Emily away from you. She'll have a real father at last, and she'll forget all about you. You're pathetic."

"That's not true."

"You don't have to worry. I have no interest in being anyone's father. You're safe."

"That's not what I want! I want you to tell Lisa. Confess to her what you did. Switched sperm samples or whatever. I don't want to be the only person who knows your secret."

"You don't _know_ anything," House said. "Have you ever considered that you could be completely wrong?"

Wilson refused to be diverted.

"Tell Lisa. Prove to me that I can trust you again."

"Then things will go back to the way they used to be?"

"I can't promise that."

House nodded. He considered his options.

"I'll think about it," he said.

"I'm trying to follow your advice, House. Remember, you told me not to start off my married life by keeping secrets."

"Yeah, I'm a genius," House said sarcastically. "I should write fortune cookies."

He got up from the couch and headed out of Wilson's office.

--

Wilson had missed his House's company each and every day since he had banished House from his life. Wilson's new "best friend" was his brother-in-law. Aaron was a decent enough man – you could never imagine him seducing his best friend's wife or abandoning his newborn daughter – but he was also deeply dull. He was obsessed with football, and talked about it constantly, but he had nothing interesting to say. He merely repeated the platitudes of television sportscasters and recited the same statistics over and over again, until Wilson wanted to beg for mercy. Wilson dearly missed House's quick wit, keen perception, and originality of thought. However, there had always been more to their friendship than Wilson's admiration of a superior intellect.

Wilson tried to be the person that other people wanted him to be. He succeeded fairly well, but the parts of Wilson that didn't fit sometimes got in the way. He tried to suppress his slightly cynical sense of humour, which he thought was unbecoming for a physician, and he hid his fear of being alone and unloved. It was exhausting, trying to be perfect, and sometimes Wilson was tired or sad or angry, and he slipped up. House saw through the image that Wilson projected more clearly than anyone else, but House liked him anyway. To Wilson's surprise, House seemed to prefer the real Wilson (whoever that was) to the idealized image. Wilson felt accepted, sometimes even loved.

That was, of course, before House had betrayed him.

--

House had asked Cuddy out to dinner, and she had politely refused.

"Knowing how you feel about me," she said, "I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Bring Wilson along. Not Emily, though. I'm planning an adults-only evening." House managed, with one carefully raised eyebrow, to imply a night of bacchanalian pleasures.

Cuddy dearly wanted a reconciliation between her husband and his former best friend, if only to make her regular meetings with department heads more comfortable. The waves of frustrated emotion they gave off whenever they were in the same room were enough to make a person seasick.

"Fine, we'll be there."

--

Dr. Fisk, the hospital's sexiest paediatrician, had recommended the restaurant to House. It was the place Fisk went whenever he wanted to break up with a girlfriend; the high walled booths and subdued lighting gave the illusion of privacy. It felt intimate, but it was still a public place, with waiters and other restaurant patrons passing by at regular intervals, which forced both parties to keep things under control. The food was decent too, he had added as an afterthought.

House was the only one at the table doing justice to the appetizers. Wilson, who knew what was coming, didn't have much of an appetite, and Cuddy never ate much anyway. Seeing Wilson so obviously nervous made House feel anxious himself. He offered Wilson one of his popcorn shrimp.

"Not kosher, but really, really good," he said. "Enjoy now, apologize to your God later."

Wilson didn't even smile. So far, the evening wasn't a brilliant success.

House hailed a passing waiter. "We're going to need some wine, here. A lot of wine."

--

The waiter put the last plate on the table. "And grilled mahi mahi for the lady," he said. "Enjoy your evening."

Wilson gave House a stern glance, and House knew that he couldn't put it off any longer. He plunged right in.

"Do you remember picking a sperm donor from that online catalogue? You chose a musician, college educated, tall, blue-eyes, loves dogs and walking along the beach. Well, that was me."

"That's not funny, House," Cuddy said.

"I'm not trying to be funny. I'm college-educated and I am a musician; I used to play professionally in a band. I'm tall and blue-eyed. Everything I put in my blurb was true."

"I've never seen you walk along a beach, House, especially not with a dog," Wilson said. Wilson had had too much to drink.

House kicked him under the table. "Be quiet. I'm talking to Lisa."

Cuddy had turned pale. She believed House and the implications were starting to sink in. She felt violated. Her stomach turned, and she covered her mouth with her napkin.

"Did you know, James? Were you part of House's...what was it?..a practical joke?"

"No, Wilson didn't know about it," House said. "I never said a word to him. He guessed that I was Emily's father. I don't know how."

"She's sings like an angel, and she plays the xylophone, and she's so smart. It's obvious," James said.

One of the qualities that made Lisa Cuddy an excellent administrator was her ability to put aside her own emotions during a crisis and concentrate on the essentials. She took a gulp of wine and a deep breath.

"Who else knows?"

"Rosemary Lum. She won't tell anyone if you don't want her to. She respects you too much."

Cuddy nodded. "I'm not feeling well," she said. "I think this evening is over, don't you? James, would you ask the maitre d' to call us a taxi?"

James left the table.

"What you did was vile, House. Turning something so important into a sick joke. Did you think it was funny, watching me raise your child? Did it make you feel superior?"

"I'm sorry, Lisa. I wanted to tell you, but I was afraid how you would react."

"Sorry isn't good enough. Stay away from me. Stay away from my daughter."

--

It was Monday morning, and House and Wilson were meeting at a small café a short drive from the hospital. Wilson knew that Cuddy wouldn't be happy if she knew he was sharing coffee and blueberry muffins with House, but he had no intention of telling her about it.

Another secret, Wilson thought. I'm an addict; I can't give them up.

"Friday night was a disaster!" House said. He had finished his own muffin, so I reached out and took a piece of Wilson's.

"It went about as well as I expected."

"If that was what you expected, you could have warned me. You were no help at all, you know. You were drunk!"

"Never get drunk on red wine," Wilson said. "I wish you had ordered white."

"I was having steak. Red wine with red meat."

"But Lisa was having fish. You should have deferred to the lady by ordering white."

"So that was what went wrong with the evening!" House said. "I didn't follow the proper rules of etiquette. Did I use the wrong fork too?"

He made another grab for Wilson's muffin, but the oncologist popped the last bit into his own mouth.

"Do you think that Cuddy is ever going to get over it?" he asked more seriously.

"She forgives you everything because you're brilliant. Perform another one of your medical miracles for her, preferably on a president or a pope. Until then, keep out of her way. Give her time."

"But you forgive me."

"I told you already. I forgave you a long time ago."

Wilson took a long sip of his coffee. It was so much better than the sludge they served in the cafeteria.

"Once things are back to normal, I'd really like you to come around to dinner now and then. You should get to know Emily. She's an amazing person, and I'm not just saying that because I'm her father," Wilson said. "We'll invite Marta, too. She's Emily's nanny. Too young for you, of course, and no crude innuendo because she's a good Catholic girl."

House tried to imagine himself spending a family evening at the Cuddy/Wilson home, playing Sorry and eating popcorn, or whatever else it was that families did to amuse themselves. He couldn't fit himself into Wilson's domestic bliss, no matter how hard he tried. It wasn't going to happen.

House finished his coffee and stood up. Wilson took out his wallet to pay.

"Same time tomorrow?" House asked.

"Okay." Wilson said.


End file.
